


The Cure for Lovesickness

by Crescent_Moon_Demon



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Angst, Fingering, Multi, Oral, Romance, Smut, Sticky, Twincest, Wooing, spark-sharing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:52:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2771987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescent_Moon_Demon/pseuds/Crescent_Moon_Demon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet was ignoring them; refusing to accept that they might actually love the older mech. Could a life-threatening experience finally change things? RatchetxJettwins; Slash. Companion fic to Enamorarse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**C.M.D: Not too long after writing 'Enamorarse', I did write up this sequel. Still haven't finished it to this day, but I do have the final chapter plotted out, so hopefully I can get it written up for next year.**   
**Originally posted on FF.net**

**Chapter 1: Infection**

"What the slag are you doing here still?!"

Three helms turned at the shout, optics shuttering at the fuming mech. "Ah, c'mon Ratchet," Bumblebee whined. "We're just playing some video games. There's no harm in that." Beside him, on the couch, Jetstorm and Jetfire nodded their helms.

"I wasn't talking to you," Ratchet snapped at the yellow scout. He turned his attention to the other two. "Don't you have a patrol to do, or something?"

"Nope," Jetstorm chirped, his faceplates spread with a grin. His brother's expression was the same.

"We be on the off-duty. So we coming here," Jetfire added. "It being better than on ship where Sentinel be too."

Ratchet narrowed his optics at the logical explanation; not trusting it because it was so reasonable. "Whatever," the CMO grumbled after a couple kliks. He turned on his pede to leave the room. "Just head back when you're done your silly games."

Bumblebee made a sound of protest at the insult, returning his attention to the flat screen t.v and the game controller in his servos. "Stupid old 'bot," the yellow mech complained under his intakes as Ratchet left the area. "They aren't just some 'silly' games..." Disgruntled as he was, the little 'bot didn't notice that his two companions had yet to face forward again; their attention fixated on the doorway the medic had just exited through. With a glance shared between them, and a stream of silent words, they both nodded their heads; Jetstorm setting the controller in his servos down on the couch. This finally drew Bumblebee's focus. "Huh? Where you guys going? I thought we were gonna play some more."

The twins got to their pedes, lip components quirked apologetically. "We more play later, yes?," said one.

"Yes. We like 'video games' much very, but now be break for time," answered the other.

"We go have around look, yes?," they finished in unison. Bumblebee arched an optic ridge at the jets, but just shrugged off their words.

"Alright, do what you want. Hey Buklhead, wanna play a match of Ninja Gladiators with me!" Bulkhead, who had been walking past the doorway at the time, back-pedaled as his name was called, poking his helm into the room.

"Sure lil' buddy!," the big mech grinned, before stomping into the room at the invitation. The other mechs' attention directed elsewhere, Jetfire and Jetstorm slipped out of the common area, heading off down one of the warehouse's hallways.

**xxXxXxx**

Ratchet had been right to be suspicious of the twins' motive. As much as they liked Optimus' team and wanted to learn more about Earth culture -video games especially- their reason for coming today was simple: Ratchet. They wanted to learn all they could about the medic, and with the cycles passing -and a return trip home seeming more and more likely as Sentinel grew tired of this organic planet- that meant the younglings had only so long. Who knew when they'd be seeing Ratchet again? Hence, their visit.

"Brother, you be knowing where go to?," Jetstorm asked, as they walked down the hallways, helm turning left and right as he tried to pinpoint his location.

"No," Jetfire replied truthfully. He paused to peak into an open doorway before moving on. "But Ratchet's base tiny being, so finding him we soon be, no?"

Well, Jetstorm couldn't really argue wit that. He followed after his brother, processor working. "Brother, might not be quicker to do asking of the help from others?," the blue jet pointed out. Jetfire slowed at his twin's words, canting his helm to the side in thought. He opened his mouth to speak when a crash resounded down the hall, drawing their attention.

Curious, they rushed forward, scanners ready for any Decepticons. As they approached the sight, a blip did appear off the twins' radar; but it was an energy signature that they both longed for and were surprised by. Rounding the corner, each jet took place on either side of the doorway, poking their helms in cautiously. Ratchet was standing in the middle of what appeared to be the med bay, his back to the doorway, grumbling at a pile of equipment that had spilled to the floor from one of the cupboards along the wall. The CMO seemed to have narrowly missed being buried by the stuff, and now was sifting through it gingerly, tossing aside anything that had been damaged during the fall.

"Tell them once, tell them a million times...," Ratchet was growling. "But does that make a difference? Nooooo... Younglings be messing around in places they shouldn't be. Breaking important stuff..."

As quietly as possible, Jetfire and Jetstorm padded into the room, intent on sneaking up behind the CMO. But so fixated were they on Ratchet that Jetfire didn't see the broken transistor in his path until his pedes sent it scattering further into the room. Both the mechs stopped in their tracks, cringing at the sound. Before them, Ratchet rose to his pedes, turning about slowly; a frown on his faceplates as his optics fell on the blue and orange younglings.

"Why am I not surprised," the medic said. He released an exasperated vent before returning to the pile. He hunched over, beginning to pick up the rest of the salvageable parts. "You wouldn't listen to me even if I told you to leave, would you?"

"We not wanting to be bother," answered one.

"We be wanting to more know about you only," supplied the other. "We be loving you, after all."

Ratchet visibly stiffened at the words, shoving the last of the good parts into the cupboard before he faced the twins. "You don't know me. And more than that," the medic continued, cutting off any protest from the younglings, "You never will. You're young; I'm old. There's more than several vorns between us... That alone should be reason enough that your affections are misplaced."

Jetfire and Jetstorm were silent.

Shocked by the harsh words, they were unable to respond; too spark-broken that their processors couldn't even begin to formulate a sentence. It wasn't so much the rejection in the CMO's words that hurt them, but his belief that such a gap in time would make them incompatible... unlovable.

_'Th-that... that be wrong, brother. No mech should thinking like that be,'_ Jetstorm bemoaned over their bond. Jetfire could only agree, his own waves of pain mingling with his twin's.

_'He wrong being, yes brother. So, we be changing mind we must,'_ Jetfire replied.

_'Slowly?'_

_'Yes...slowly...'_ Calming himself down, Jetfire approached the wary Ratchet, bending down and picking up the left-over parts that were still on the floor.

"...Just what are you doing?," Ratchet asked. Even Jetstorm was looking at the orange mech oddly.

"You needing to now be doing the 'cleaning-up', yes? We being of help, yes?," Jetfire said. Behind him, the blue jet nodded his head vigorously, now understanding what his brother was getting at.

Seeing that it was unlikely he'd be getting them out from under his pedes anytime soon, Ratchet only crossed his arms over his chassis, harrumphing in slight annoyance. "Do whatever you want," he grumbled, returning to picking items up, as far away from the twins as possible.

Jetfire and Jetstorm eyed him forlornly; wishing they could go to the CMO's side to comfort their still aching sparks, but knowing Ratchet wouldn't allow it and would only push them further away. They worked in silence, the jettwins puzzling over a strategy to get close to Ratchet, and the medic wondering if he could slip out of the room now without the younglings following. Just as they were finishing up, an alarm went off, echoing down the warehouse hallways shrilly. Ratchet straightened up immediately at the sound, racing from the medbay. Jetfire and Jetstorm trailed after him, sputtering confused comms back and forth.

The alarm had frightened them with its suddenness and continued to drive trepidation further into their sparks the longer the cause of the warning was withheld from them. It couldn't be a Decepticon, because Sentinel would have commed them by now... but whatever it was had Ratchet all riled up, and that only increased their worry.

"What's going on?," the CMO barked as they ran into the control room. Optimus was at the monitors, already giving orders to Prowl who was out on patrol.

"An explosion downtown," Optimus answered, turning to Ratchet and the twins. His optics fell on Bumblebee and Bulkhead, the last to dash through the doorway. "One of the humans fuel stations caught fire and exploded," the firetruck informed. "We need to hurry Autobots -the resulting fire is spreading because of the oil and getting stronger with every nanoklik. There's a good chance that some of the humans are dead, but our priority is to get the rest of the civilians out of the area and subdue that blaze. Understood?"

The mechs nodded their helms, dental plates clenched tightly. Jetfire and Jetstorm glanced at each other. Optimus and his team worked to help and protect the organics, even from the dangers of their own world? Sentinel would never do that...

"Autobots, transform and roll out!"

At the command, the jettwins shifted into alt-mode with the others, tapping into the coordinates Optimus gave them and turning in the direction of the explosion. They didn't _have_ to help, the flyers knew, but they were Autobots and helping others was what they did; and streaking through the air just above the others, the twins knew this to be right. This was the duty of a real Autobot, beyond that of a civilian or the Elite Guard.

**xxXxXxx**

The fire was more enormous than they could have imagined.

"Crank it into gear!," Ratchet yelled from behind the twins, his fists lifting into the air as he shot out a magnetic beam, catching the cloud of falling debris. Jetstorm and Jetfire, dazed, could only fly out from under the hovering wreckage, hot winds from the fire pushing at them from all sides. Ratchet grunted as the heavy load increased; turning his beam's force field up a couple more notches before tossing the debris back into the burning building. The resounding crackle and boom echoed in his audio receptors, while his optics shuttered slightly at the rising flames.

"Prime, we're going to need back-up here," the CMO grumbled into his comm link. "The blaze is getting worse, and we're having no luck putting it out."

"Understood," came Optimus' voice. The firetruck sounded a little harried. "Bumblebee and I are almost done in this sector; we'll head for your location in a couple kliks. Make sure all humans are evacuated in the meantime."

"Make it snappy," Ratchet answered back, before cutting the connection. He eyed the burning highrise before him, turning to the jettwins. "Listen up!," the medic ordered. "This inferno is bigger than we were all expecting. I certainly don't have the capabilities to handle it on my own, and who knows how long it will take the others before they can make it here from their own locations. Our main priority then is to make sure all the civilians are out the area."

"We understand being, sir!," Jetfire saluted, racing across the street.

"On it right!," Jetstorm yelled, before taking to the sky to do a sweep of the vicinity.

Ratchet grimaced as the fire grew hotter at his backside, bringing condensation to his armour. This whole situation was ridiculous the medic thought. The explosion had been bigger than any of them had anticipated, starting a fire over a space of several blocks in each direction. Everything in the center was suspected to be wiped out by now, and therefore no longer their problem. But even with Detroit's emergency squad behind them, this job seemed too big for the Autobots. Ratchet set his scanners up to maximum, searching out all possible lifeforms within a fifty meter radius. A blip resounded off his radar... in the building right next to the blaze. "Slag!," the CMO cursed, transforming to his alt-mode.

He could see the fire raging still, concrete and other debris crackling at the very center of the flames, and knew that the building might erupt again as some other dangerous or flammable material was eaten up by the heat. Revving his engines, the ambulance shot for the next building; crashing through the glass doors and racing up the closest set of stairs. It ground his axle, but he needed speed at this moment in time, not caution. His heating systems kept track of the faint life signal as he bounced up higher and higher, past empty floors, before leading him off onto one of the vacant hallways.

The infrastructure groaned sickeningly as his wheels touched the floor, and Ratchet transformed to bipedal mode warily, afraid that the entire building would collapse on him with even the slightest shift of weight. It held, thankfully, and the CMO moved onwards. He found the human in one of the sweltering rooms, collapsed on the floor under a desk. She had been knocked unconscious. Ratchet quickly scooped her up, pulling an oxygen mask out from the mass of medical equipment squashed in his trunk. Keeping the device held to the woman's mouth and nose, the medic hurried back out; knowing that if he lingered any longer, he endangered not only himself but the human as well. In the open air once more, Ratchet transformed to his alt-mode again; giving the woman full access to his medical facilities. As he was doing a full body scan on her, to check for any extensive injuries, the woman stirred a little on the stretcher, mumbling incoherently.

"Ratchet, sir, what being problem?," Jetstorm asked as he landed by the ambulance's side.

"Street all clear," Jetfire added, joining his brother.

"Shut it, the both of ya!," Ratchet snapped. "The woman's coming to..."

The twins looked at the medic strangely, and he opened his back doors with a grumble, showing them the human he was talking about. Her eyes were squinting open now, brow furrowed in confusion and pain. "M-my b-baby...," she wheezed around the oxygen mask. "M-my ba-baby... pl-pleeeease, w-where is my b-bab-by...?"

No one answered her and she started to squirm anxiously on the stretcher; fear bringing her to full awareness. "My b-baby -oh m-my god, sh-she's still in-inside! P-please, save m-my baby! P-pleeeease!"

"Lady, stop it!," Ratchet shouted over her, feeling her unsettle things with her flailing. He used the seatbelts to restrain her; his fuel tanks sputtering sickeningly as he thought about what she had just said. How could he have missed a child back in there?

"It okay, we go baby get," Jetfire and Jetstorm chirped. They leapt into the air, transforming into their jet forms just as Ratchet realized what they had said.

"No, wait!"

But they were gone already, crashing through the upper floor windows and disappearing inside the building. Ratchet prepared to transform as well when the explosion he had been anticipating finally happened; knocking him backwards with the blast, the street literally shaking with the recoil.

And then, there was only darkness.

**xxXxXxx**

"Ratchet. Ratchet!"

The CMO onlined his optics, lurching upwards as his systems whirred into action. The first thing he noticed was that he was back in bipedal mode, the human being taken care of by Prowl. The second thing he noticed was that the fire still roared all around him; weaker now, but still going.

"Ratchet, are you okay? Can you answer me?"

Ratchet turned his helm to Optimus, feeling his processor ache at the movement. He took in the firetruck's question, using it to settle himself and regather his memories. There was the human woman, then her pleas to save her offspring; the jettwins, followed by the explosion... "Where are they?," the medic asked, vocalizer rough from the impromptu reboot. He looked Optimus in the faceplates, intakes hitching at the blank look the other 'bot wore. "Where are the twins?"

"We...we haven't seem them yet. Ratchet, don't you-"

But Ratchet had already tuned Optimus out. He turned his helm quickly to the blaze, his optics narrowing at the fire. Because of the second explosion, the fire had spread to several more buildings; including the one that he had found the human in. With the flames that hot, all of the CMO's sensors were useless: his scanner, his radar and his infrared. Nothing could help him now.

"Ratchet! Wait, come back!"

_'Primus, let those younglings still be online,'_ Ratchet thought as he ran for the burning building. He could hear the others' distressed cries at his rear axle, but knew that they served a better purpose by staying outside and handling the fire. If he didn't move now though, Jetfire and Jetstorm could be lost forever.

Smoke clouded his optics upon entry; ash slipping into the seams of his armour and clogging his intakes. "Jetfire! Jetstorm!," Ratchet called, pushing further into the black; ignoring the flames and falling debris. "Slaggit... someone fragging answer!"

There was a sound, fifty feet ahead approximately, that could have been more crumbling rock or someone moving. Not willing to chance it, the CMO raced for the sound, falling to his knees as he got closer. Lower on the ground now, he was able to discern some shapes through the smoke. "R-ratchet, sir?," came Jetfire's crackle.

Ratchet frowned, reaching out for the jet gingerly. It sounded like the kid had broken something. "Kid, where's your brother?," he asked, touching Jetfire's shoulder plating. He retracted his servo almost immediately -the flyer was hot! His armour was burning; heated by the roaring flames and clogged systems.

"Where is Jetstorm?," he asked again. Ratchet had to get the twins out of here quickly, before they experienced a meltdown.

"H-he... brother being behind me," Jetfire coughed, servos scrambling towards the medic. "B-but... R-ratchet, sir, no f-feel my thrusters I b-being." Ratchet shifted closer, optics widening in horror.

Jetfire was mangled; the jet's frame was torn and stripped in places, patches of armour melted into blobs on the flyer's body, splashed with specks of luminescent energon. The leg he announced not feeling was trapped under a mound of rubble that was smouldering hotly still. A blue wing tip peaked out from beneath the pile. The CMO felt his fuel tanks sputter again, and thought for a very terrifying moment that he would need to purge. The moment passed, thankfully, and Ratchet was getting himself back on track. "Okay, hold on," he said to Jetfire, reaching his servos deep into the molten rubble.

The effect was instantaneous. Heat coiled around his servos, warping and buckling them, making his sensor arrays scream in pain. The medic shut them off, blocking out the pain; putting his whole back into the motion as he heaved at the pile, pushing melting beams and red-hot concrete off of Jetstorm. It

took him two more shoves, condensation steaming off his chassis in stifling waves, before he had cleared away enough debris to pull the blue mech free. Ratchet did so, carefully and slowly, putting the flames and his own damaged systems out of his processor; knowing that, despite his sensor nets no longer feeling it, the youngling was in critical danger and would need extensive repairs. If he was still online...

Jetstorm was in terrible shape. Ten times worse than Jetfire. The flyer in his arms was practically indistinguishable; armour warped and nearly melted off entirely, and his paintjob charred so black it looked like the mech was already offlined. But there was a faint glow emanating from the youngling's visor and Ratchet knew it to mean that the jet was conscious, and so very much online. Without reservation, the medic pressed Jetstorm to his chassis; hoping his own cooling fans and layer of condensation would help to cool the blue mech down. Having rescued Jetstorm now, Ratchet kicked the rest of the rubble away, freeing Jetfire's crushed leg. The CMO bent down a little and scooped the flyer up as well.

"I'm gonna need you to hang on, okay? I've only got the one servo," he told the youngling. Jetfire nodded his helm sluggishly, wrapping his scorched arms about the medic's neck cables, almost latching onto Ratchet's back. Weighed down, but relatively safe, Ratchet shuffled for the doorway; swirls of ash and smoke billowing up and around them with every intake. It seemed to take forever to reach outside again.

"Prime!," Ratcher hacked, shouting out blindly. He still couldn't see right. "Prime! Hose me down!"

There came the answering spray of a water hose; sweet, blessed foam coating the medic thickly from head to toe, filling into all the spaces in his armour and cooling the torched metal. He let out a relieved groan, feeling the twins do the same as they were doused with the fire-retardant material as well. "It...it'll be okay, kids," Ratchet mumbled, dropping to his knees in exhaustion. He couldn't stand any longer.

"S-sir...?," came a weak intake. The CMO turned his helm down; recognizing the voice as Jetstorm's. The youngling's visor was turned up to him, dull and scorched.

"Kid, no! Don't-" Ratchet tried to warn, but Jetstorm was already prying his arms away from his cockpit; whimpers pushing through his lip components as the pain of tearing his welded limbs apart overrode his systems' own sensory shutdown code. But the blue mech's grimace soon changed into one of a bloody smile; his destroyed arms revealing the human child that had been nestled between them. She looked almost as bad as Jetfire, but she was still alive, and that was all that mattered.

"W-we... we d-doing good, y-yes?" Jetstorm's words were a stream of static; a sure sign that his systems had reached critical capability. Already, the youngling's visor was dimming down.

"Yes," Ratchet whispered, as the flyer fell into stasis lock. "Yes, you did good."

**xxXxXxx**

There was no more pain.

Jetstorm noticed this first as he came back online; the heavenly void, before his frame was wracked by spasms, triggered by the stream of memories flashing through his processor unfiltered. Fire, fire all around –trapped in darkness like that of the smelting pit; crushed, imprisoned and facing certain offlining. But the pain –where was the pain?! Waves of assurance and love seeped through his haywire sensory net; stroking at his frantic spark, calming and soothing it.

"B-brother?!," Jetstorm gasped, recognizing the ghostly touch, his vocalizer hitching with a whine as it was put to use again.

"I here am," came Jetfire's voice. An astrosecond later, there was a warm servo placed on his shoulder plating. Jetstorm turned to his twin's presence, servos grasping blindly for his brother. He could not see still, and panic was beginning to overtake his spark again. "Give a nano-klik, brother," the orange mech said. "Let system chance being to reboot."

The blue flyer held on to his brother's servo, taking a deep intake and calming himself down. As Jetfire had said, his systems were able to fully reboot then, granting him sight once more. When he could see, Jetstorm surveyed the room he was in; the medical berth he laid on. "Medbay?"

Jetfire smiled down on his twin. Jetstorm was spark-broken to see that there were patches of grey throughout his brother's paintjob. Idly, he wondered if his frame looked the same. "Yes, brother," the orange flyer answered. "We injured badly very being because of explosion, but Ratchet be fixing up new almost. Ugly paintjob remaining injury."

Jetstorm sat up slowly, absorbing this news. He looked over himself, surprised the see that everything was as his brother had said. When he was done his inspection, he turned to Jetfire, reaching over and hugging the orange mech. His twin wrapped his arms around him in return, not minding that Jetstorm pressed his audio receptor against his chassis, desperate to hear his twin's pulsing spark. "I scared was being," Jetstorm whispered.

"So I too was being," Jetfire replied.

"As well you should both be," said a voice.

The younglings lifted their helms, staring in the direction of the doorway. Ratchet stood there, faceplates fixed with a foul grimace. But in his optics was the smallest speck of relief. It had been terrible, seeing the extent of the damage the two jets had endured out in the direct sunlight. It was worse than any mech should have to suffer and still be online for. Optimus and the others nearly purged their tanks when they say what happened... Sentinel being the only one to do so, when they came to the Elite Guard ship for repairs. Him being sick though allowed Ratchet to get into the medbay with no problems. The next couple of cycles found the medic locked up in the medbay, hunched over one of the twins; pushing his lagging systems, afraid to recharge even for a astrosecond, should he lose one of the younglings.

Jetfire was resting in recharge peacefully after several orns of repairs... Jetstorm took exceptionally longer. The blue jet had been almost literally locked in a smelter. So much of his armour and systems had simply melted from the intense pressure and heat; made worse because the youngling had focused all of his cooling functions and self-repair systems at the very center-front of his chassis, as a means to protect the human child. It would have been an effort worthy of honour... if Ratchet could stop thinking about how dumb a move it really was. Staring at the repaired 'bots now, the medic didn't think he would ever get the image of their warped frames out of his processor. It would probably haunt him for the rest of his function.

"That was a dumb-aft stunt the two of you pulled," the CMO growled. "The area was unstable; that fire uncontrollable. And yet you rushed in there all the same! You're lucky to still be online, when you should be rightfully put out of function!"

Jetfire flinched at the harsh words, tightening his grip on his brother. Even Jetstorm looked contrite; visor dimming slightly with shame. "Sorry...," the blue mech said softly. Ratchet cut his vocalizer off at the quiet words, his fuel tanks plummeting at the meek sound. Now he felt guilty for yelling at them... "We be wanting to make proud you only."

"That's... That's not the right way to go about it, kid," Ratchet said, releasing a weary intake. "Did you want me to be proud that your offlining would be all my fault?"

"No!," Jetfire protested. He bit his lip component immediately after, his optics falling to the floor. "Just wanting you to loving us be is what we wishing for only. To have you think not that we be... incompatible."

This again. The frown reappeared on Ratchet's lip components, his arms crossing over his chassis subconsciously. "I shouldn't have-"

"Not be saying it!," Jetstorm shouted, cutting the medic off. Coolant was pooling about both twins' optics, their faceplates twisted with despair. Ratchet couldn't shake off the wave of deja vu he felt looking at them. "D-do say not you be it regretting. No matter what, not say that. Please...," the blue mech trailed off, dental plates clenching together against the trembles that wracked his frame. His brother stood rigidly at his berthside, shoulder plating showing the slightest hint of trembles as well.

"S-saying like that cruel words b-being fair not...," the orange flyer added.

"Well what do you expect me to say?," the CMO replied a little peevishly. He just couldn't understand the two younglings. What did they want from him? Why were they so convinced that they were in love with him?! "How can you even be in love with me? It's illogical!"

"S-so not...," Jetstorm said, wiping away the coolant from the edges of his visor. He looked up at Ratchet, smiling softly. "Being there reasons many we love you so."

Jetfire smiled as well. "Yes. You be strong and smart very. You years of experience having, and you be sharing that others with. You out looking for teammates, thrusting self into danger will to protect them, if even you wanting to be not."

"You grumpy and callous are," Jetstorm added, "but soft-sparked very, and mechs many not knowing this. They judgemental too, but you be judging actions and the words and paintjob not. And though you being candid, you saying not cruel words to be mean just. With purpose you speaking be. You caring lots about others too, that you being doing bestest only work when you be fixing other 'bots. Even ones you be saying dumb-afts are."

"Can you blaming us be for then being love in with you?," they finished in unison.

Ratchet felt his systems rumble with embarrassment, faceplates heating up with boiled energon. He was speechless this time; didn't even know how to begin responding to the twins' statement. They had answered his question as honestly as possible, listing a lot of characteristics that were true about him. But how had they noticed all that? Jetfire and Jetstorm cautiously stepped away from the berth, approaching the idling medic. They stopped a few feet away from Ratchet, servos raised towards their chassis hesitantly; respecting the CMO's want for space, but obviously wishing to be closer to the older mech.

Ratchet noticed this, and raised his own servos in trepidation, resting them on both of the jets' helms. Jetfire and Jetstorm flinched at the contact, looking up at the medic from under his red arms curiously. "Get some more recharge. You need it," he mumbled, drawing back his servos.

The blue and orange mechs made a small sound of disappointment as the CMO turned about and headed for the medbay's exit. But their smiles returned when Ratchet paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder plating at the younglings. "You know where to find me if you need anything," the old 'bot said, before finally leaving.

Sparks spinning wildly with joy, Jetfire and Jetstorm hugged each other tightly, stumbling back to the berths. Collapsing on one, the flyers nuzzled each other happily; stroking restored wings and fixed armour plating, basking in the affections and waves of love they were pouring on each other. "Oh brother," Jetfire moaned, already retracting his codpiece and the protective glass covering his spark. He was feeling so ecstatic right now and the urge to bond again with his twin was hard to deny. A resounding click told him that Jetstorm was feeling the same.

"Ratchet... h-he reject us not, this time being," the blue mech gasped, internal systems revving as he prepared to interface with the other flyer. The plating on his chassis pulled back, revealing his spark; pulsing in luminescent, pale blue waves. Immediately strands tore away from the compressed orb of light, reaching for the identical one just beneath it. Jetfire shivered as their sparks began to merge, his legs wrapping about his brother's waist and drawing him closer.

"Y-yes...," the orange mech answered, vocalizer rattling as his brother's spike slid into his valve; sensitive sensor nodes tripling the delicious friction of Jetstorm filling him. There was still an empty echo of space he could feel faintly inside -a space that his twin couldn't fill the same like Ratchet had. Not that he cared at this point. Jetstorm was here with him, they were alive and well, and Ratchet... it seemed like the medic was finally accepting their love. "O-ooh, Ra-ratchet... so-soon, soon he w-with us be; i-interfacing and bo-aah... mmmmm... b-bonded, oh, t-to us."

Jetstorm's cooling fans kicked in as his hips began to rock, energy lashing out from their combined sparks in electric blue arches; shared emotions and simulations being swapped through their connection -and in between it all, thoughts of Ratchet swirled in their processors, pushing them higher and higher as they spiralled towards overload. "Y-yes!," he cried, fingers scrabbling at Jetfire's frame, gouging the other's patchy orange paint, as energy coiled tightly in his combustion chamber. "R-ratchet...!"

**xxXxXxx**

"R-ratchet...!"

Ratchet pressed tight against the wall, optics widening as he heard Jetstorm's scream of overload, joined by his brother's. The medic in him knew that they shouldn't be doing such an intense activity so soon after repairs, but the other part of him was having trouble keeping his processor away from the crashed out twins in the next room and the fact that it was his name they had been screaming as they peaked. His cooling fans were on at maximum capacity, engine starting a low rumble as his systems heated with a growing charge. This was bad... real bad. He shouldn't have been feeling any of this.

The CMO knew it was more than likely because of the random interface he'd had with the younglings -he'd been trying his hardest to put the incident out of his processor, putting up lines of coding just to make sure none of his programs veered to the twins. But nothing was working still. Their confession had stripped him of the last of his carefully placed firewalls, and when he had thought he had lost Jetfire and Jetstorm... truth be told, it frightened him as well. It had been a long time since anyone had made his engine purr with a building charge or made his fuel tanks sputter with fear and dread; or his spark pulse sharply at the thought of their offlining or because of sweet, whispered words...

Bad news, Ratchet knew. This was all bad news. He pushed himself off from the wall with a heavy intake, systems lagging a bit as he headed for the ship's command center, to tell the others that the jettwins were back online again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Symptoms**

The twins were one hundred percent operational again.

Ratchet stood behind Optimus and the others, optics glancing at the sealed cells of the Elite Guard brig. Behind three out of the six cells, were Blitzwing, a Starscream clone, and Swindle -gagged, cuffed and apparently captured by Sentinel. That was news that even Optimus had a hard time swallowing. But that wasn't what had the medic frowning. Ratchet watched as Jetfire and Jetstorm pushed past the other 'bots. The blue flyer poised coyly before Blitzwing's cell, as his twin pulled a holo-cam to his optic.

"Sentinel Prime, sir, tell please!," Jetfire said, subspacing the holo-cam once he was finished taking the picture.

"How did you making to capture this badness 'bot?," Jetstorm pleaded, turning to Sentinel. The truck leaned a little back from the exuberant youngling; his faceplates twisted oddly at the other mech's praise. Apparently, even the ego-maniac was put off by the amount of adoration the blue twin was pouring on him.

Ratchet's frown deepened.

"Yes, Sentinel," Optimus spoke up. "How did you manage to catch this badness 'bot?"

There was no way to explain it really. The CMO was feeling... jealous. It was the only solution his logic circuits could come up with to explain the ugly, burning feeling that weighed heavily in his fuel tanks. A feeling that increased every time the jettwins glanced at Sentinel, their eyes filled with awe and worship for their commander. That glowing buzz in their optics used to be focused only on him...

Ratchet didn't even know why he cared.

Just a couple days ago, this is what he would have wanted. Actually, if the ambulance was still being truthful, he still wanted that. Just...not at much. But after dealing with that explosion, where he almost lost both of the younglings, Ratchet found his CPU running a new line of code. One that kept Jetfire and Jetstorm in his thoughts avidly. He was thinking about the twins constantly now; replaying the files in his processor: their well-spoken confession, their wanton cries as they interfaced shortly after coming online again, crying his name as they overloaded. Yet... the flyers hadn't chased after him since that day in the medbay. What did that mean? Was their love really as shallow as the medic had once predicted?

And why did that news threaten to unhinge him?

It was with slight surprise that Ratchet realized that Sentinel was storming out of the room. The CMO turned and eyed the truck, before turning his attention back to the rest of his teammates. His optics caught a glance of the jettwins leaving the brig from the other side of the room. "Well...we'll just label this mission as a success in the meantime," Optimus sighed, fingers pinching at the bridge of his olfactory sensors tiredly.

Jazz laughed. "Glad that you could help us out today, OP. Despite the sudden turnabout of events..."

"Yes, well. I think this will take a little time to process still," Optimus replied. "But for now, I think we'll head back to base. Feel free to comm us again." The cyber-ninja nodded his helm. "Team, let's go."

"Yeah... I'll be along shortly, Prime," Ratchet mumbled over his doorwing to the firetruck. The old 'bot ignored the strange looks he was receiving from the others. "Just want to gather a couple things from the medbay," he lied.

"Alright, Ratchet, I understand. Come back to base when you're ready." Optimus turned around, and with Prowl at his heels, exited the brig to head back home for a night's recharge. With his teammates gone now, the medic left the brig; heading in the direction that he saw the jettwins leave.

**xxXxXxx**

Jestorm and Jetfire were walking down the hall, heading back to their regular posts for the rest of their shift. On their faceplates were identical smiles.

"Brother, you be believing Sentinel Prime all that did!," the blue jet exclaimed. "Amazing was, no? Sentinel Prime, sir, great skill has to beating out slag of Decepticons doing."

"Yes brother!," Jetfire replied, equally as impressed as his twin. "Thinking we be Sentinel Prime the over-charged- bolts-o'-bag is, but so not instead. He well Elite Guard 'bot!"

"He getting the medal, Sentinel Prime sir be for making capture to Cybertron when we return," Jetstorm noted.

"Indeed...," the orange mech agreed, slowing to a stop. Jetfire fell silent for an astrosecond, and his brother noticed. Turning to his twin, the blue flyer was surprised to see a curious expression on the other's faceplates. Feeling his brother's worry bleeding over their bond, Jetfire raised his helm and made optic-contact with the other mech. "Brother... you notice Ratchet was quiet being? Really, really quiet..."

Jetstorm canted his helm to the side slightly, sifting through his memory files of the past few minutes, searching for what his twin was talking about. Sure enough, he saw what his brother meant, and the youngling fell into an anxious, contemplative silence as well. "...may he worried being?," the blue jet mumbled uncertainly.

"Thinking so?," Jetfire asked, just as softly. "Only two Earth days we out of medbay being, and repairs extensive were. Possible Ratchet our state worried for... Sentinel Prime saying we be going to work back, but Ratchet saying we ready not for the strenuous shift being. It being reason staying on ship he has..."

Jetstorm did not answer his twin as the other trailed off, servos twisting about themselves worriedly as his own thoughts began to run rampant. He still remembered vividly being buried beneath the pile of burning debris, and though he tried his hardest to compress and archive the file or delete it completely, the memory remained; haunting him. Jetfire did not know this, if only because the blue flyer didn't want to burden his brother with things that he did not need to worry about. But the youngling had a sneaking suspicion that Ratchet knew about this, despite never having said a word, and that's why the medic had remained aboard even after he had declared the two jets fit to leave the medbay. Sentinel had wanted to put them straight back to work (he had been lost without his two lackeys and wanted to get them back to their posts asap), to which Ratchet nearly threw a fit and was astroseconds away from disassembling their commander's motherboard before the truck finally submitted to the CMO's decision. Even afterwards, Ratchet had remained on the ship, wary that Sentinel would disregard his medical orders the minute the ambulance was out of range. Was it so wrong for Jetstorm to think then that the medic was actually and honestly concerned for them, more so than a simple medic-patient bond?

"Brother...," the blue flyer started. "We making the move on Ratchet still?"

Jetfire jolted at the soft-spoken question, having fallen into his own hibernation cycle during the silence. "Yes," he answered his twin, inching closer up to Jetstorm's side. He pushed his servo into the other mech's, fingers winding around each other. He opened their bond, sharing all his thoughts with his brother; waves of hope and love swirling into the other's spark. "Slow doing we decided, yes? We be losing him not this way."

Jetstorm smiled at his brother, intakes releasing a gentle burst of air. "Right are you, brother."

"What are you two doing, idling in the hallway?," a snappish voice asked, annoyance highlighting the tone.

The jettwins startled at the vocalizer, sparks leaping in excitement before they schooled their faceplates into what they hoped was a neutral expression, turning to face the new addition. Ratchet stood only inches from them, arms crossed over his chassis in typical fashion for the medic and a frown pulling at his lip components. "Sir!," the flyers saluted, engines purring slightly, giving themselves away. The medic raised an optic ridge at the curious sound, frown deepening.

"You haven't answered my question," he pointed out gruffly.

Jetfire and Jetstorm peered at each other curiously for a nanoklik, before turning their attention back on Ratchet. "We talking being only Ratchet, sir," they answered.

"Oh, and what about?," the medic asked.

"Sentinel Prime, sir," Jetstorm replied.

"Yes," Jetfire added. "Sentinel Prime, sir, making spectacular feat, capture the badness 'bots he being. Was fascinating most, yes, yes!"

An ugly kind of sneer appeared on Ratchet's faceplates; his intakes releasing a sort of choked burst of air. "What's fascinating is how that scrapheap was able to lie to all our faceplates so comfortably," the medic growled. The twins flinched slightly at the harsh words, engines puttering to a quiet. They didn't understand why the CMO was so angry, and it perturbed them. Whether or not Ratchet noticed was uncertain; the ambulance turned his optics away from the twins, scanning the hallway quickly before focusing on the younglings again.

"C'mon," Ratchet grumbled, grabbing the flyers' arms. He pulled them along quickly, not saying a word though their vocalizers chirruped in confusion and worry. Eventually the jettwins noticed that they were heading for the medbay.

"It time being for the checking up, Ratchet, sir?," Jetstorm asked as they were led into the room. Jetfire cocked his helm in puzzlement at his brother's question. They had their routine scan done earlier that cycle, so why would they need another one so soon?

Ratchet didn't answer them still, turning and locking the door. He knew the younglings were confused -could feel it in the air as their turbines sputtered awkwardly, and their fans twirled occasionally every few astroseconds in disjointed, rapid bursts. A part of him thought to comfort them, to assure them that there was nothing to worry about, but that acidic displeasure roiling through his fuel tanks refused to give him a moment's peace. Hearing the locking mechanism fall into place, the jets' engines turned up a notch, rumbling with obvious fear this time.

"R-ratchet, sir," Jetfire choked, stepping close to his brother's side. Jetstorm copied the motion, servos reaching subconsciously for the other flyer's. "S-sentinel Prime, sir, expecting us being at post. W-we going m-must."

"I don't really care what that glitchhead wants or expects," Ratchet finally growled. He wasn't surprised that the jettwins flinched again at his comment. Feeling that he had least had them trapped, in a secure and safe room, the medic decided to get to the point of the matter.

"You lied."

Jetfire and Jetstorm jolted at the accusation. They had become quite afraid as Ratchet's ire seemed to grow, and being locked in a room with a temperamental 'bot who could easily disassemble them in under a few astroseconds, didn't exactly make them feel very safe either. But why was the CMO so angry? What had they done to upset him? "S-sir?," they asked in unison, looking up at Ratchet worriedly.

"You lied," the medic repeated. "Confessing your sparks out, swearing love, when it was always apparent you were too young to fully understand or truly experience these things."

Both jets gasped at the cruel words, coolant pooling about their optics. Ratchet could say nothing, though it ached his spark to watch the younglings weep. He was hurting inside too; it would be better if he could get them to admit to this farce, so they could all move on with their lives. The protests the medic had predicted would come, did not, and that fact probably stunned him more than anything else. With a derisive snort, he turned on his pede; unlocking the medbay door's once again. He was going to go back to base now and archive this entire cycle. It was as he was walking out the door that the twins reacted.

Jetfire and Jetstorm leapt across the room, stumbling as they smacked into the CMO's back struts; arms weaving around the wider form and anchoring tightly in place. Ratchet for a few astroseconds was dazed, trying to settle his systems after the intakes were forced from his engine at the assault, before the 'bot was even able to respond to the younglings' actions. "G'off," he snarled, feeling slightly less than charitable at the moment.

The blue and orange mechs said nothing, merely shaking their helms slightly before proceeding to bury said helms further into the medic's transformation seams. Ratchet was torn... his systems buzzed almost happily at the jets close proximity, the warmth of their plating and the fragile strength of their arms around his chassis drawing his attention. But the coolant he could feel -almost magnified to his sensor relays- at his back struts made the CMO's fuel tanks roil with worry and guilt, inadvertently feeding the small flame of jealous rage that still burned slightly in his spark. Before he could unclench his denta plating and yell at the twins, another voice was pronouncing itself over the ship's intercom.

"Jetstorm, Jetfire -to your posts. NOW!"

For a while, it was eerily quiet in the medbay. Jetstorm and Jetfire were reluctant to release Ratchet, afraid that he was leaving for good, but their survival protocol kicked in; forcing them to unwind their arms and take up position a few meters away from the medic. Ratchet, for his part, remained in his spot; frame rigid and oozing barely restrained anger.

"Go...," the CMO said, when it became apparent the jettwins weren't leaving any time soon. "Get outta here... Go to your commander."

The younglings still did not move.

"I said LEAVE!," Ratchet roared, turning about to face them. Chirruping in fright, Jetstorm and Jetfire fled from the room; coolant pouring down their cheekplates as they ran. Back in the medbay, Ratchet made ready to finally leave the ship and return to his own base.

**xxXxXxx**

Jazz knew something was up the moment the twins walked through the door.

The two jets shuffled into the room quietly, helms held upright with wavering strength; their faceplates devoid of nearly all emotion. For a scary astrosecond, they looked identical to Perceptor and the apathetic expression he wore twenty-four seven. But upon closer inspection, the cyberninja could see that something in their optics, almost unseen, screamed out their pain. Sentinel, as oblivious as ever, turned in his chair at the younglings' entrance; a scowl fixed on his faceplates.

"Took your sweet time moving those pistons, didn't you?," the truck growled. "Keep this up and I'll have the both of you demoted from the ranks -flight specs or not. Now get to your posts, soldiers!"

Jetstorm and Jetfire marched to their designated spots, sitting in their seats before the ship's monitors and consoles stiffly. Pleased with their silent obedience, Sentinel rose to his own pedes, stretching a kink out in his back struts. "Shifts done, Jazz. You're relieved of your duties for the rest of the night. Go get your recharge," the commander called to the other mech as he headed out from the ship's command deck. Jazz rose to his pedes as well at the truck's words, but did not move from his station. As tired as he was, he couldn't just leave -the jettwins were hurting and needed his help.

"Hey boys...," Jazz started, coming up behind the younglings. They were slow reacting to his greeting, helms turning to face him nearly a breem after the cyberninja had spoken. "What's hanging?"

"Nothing," they responded simultaneously.

Jazz felt his gentle grin fade from his faceplates all together, lip components pursing in worry now. "Tell me. Tell me what happened," he pleaded softly, kneeling in the space between the jettwins' posts.

He noticed the sudden tenseness of their shoulder plating, and the quick intakes that escaped both of them. Now he was certain there was a problem. The question was though: would Jetfire and Jetstorm confide in him? Or would they keep this secret to themselves, letting it cause them more agony? His visor noticed an anomaly on the monitors, lifting his helm entirely to examine it. Apparently, he was the only one to notice because the jettwins still had their optics glued to the floor where they had fallen during his request.

"Hmmm... Ratchet's finally heading back to his base now," Jazz mused, watching as the medic transformed to alt-mode, before driving out of range of the ship's cameras. "Guess his work was all done here. Sentinel will be glad to hear it."

Jazz didn't really understand it. One nanoklik he was still squatting between the flyers, attention on the screens; the next, he was knocked backwards onto his back plating, his arms full of two distraught younglings. "J-jetstorm? Jetfire? Yo, what's up?," the older Guardsmech asked, feeling his processor whirr with confusion and rising panic. He had never seen the twins this upset before, and it shook him to his core. Carefully, he moved up into an upright sitting position, arms wrapping about the smaller mechs.

Jetstorm and Jetfire did not react to either his question or his movement. Coolant poured freely down their facial plating, unhindered and in unbelievable quantity; vocalizers spitting out hisses of static in replacement of the humans' sobbing. Their servos clenched tightly wherever they could reach on Jazz, rattling frames pressing in closer to the cyberninja as their tears came harder. Meanwhile, Jazz let his servos rub the jettwins' lower back struts in comfort; racing through his archived memories rapidly, trying to think of a way to best approach this situation. Finally, he settled on methods outside of the Elite Guard manual -methods he had learned first-hand from his creator.

"Hush, hush...," the Guardsmech hummed softly into the younglings' audios. "It's alright... Let it out. Don't carry all that hurtin' in your spark."

As it always had, the words seemed to soothe Jetfire and Jetstorm; though the tears did not ebb, and the sobs came every couple astroseconds. Shaking with distress, they pulled themselves away from Jazz enough so they could look up at the older mech. "I-it...," Jetstorm attempted to speak.

"R-ratchet!," Jetfire finally managed to croak. The orange flyer fell quiet again as his chassis shook with another violent sob; his brother crying along with him.

Jazz felt his jaw drop somewhat, not certain how to take that vague outburst. Before he could question it further though, both younglings were speaking again. "W-we...," Jetstorm started, tone thick with static. "N-not understand... wh-why s-s-so mmmm-m-mad he be-being."

"D-doing not s-s-sommmm... m-mething bad!," Jetfire choked, trying to speak past the tightening energon lines among his neck cables. He trembled in Jazz's arms, burying his helm into the other autobot's chassis. "C-call u-us the l-liars... b-but n-not we a-are!"

"H-him... o-only love! W-why th-thinking not i-is true? Wh-why he p-push aw-away us?!," Jetstorm cut in, dim visor looking up at Jazz beseechingly. As if the cyberninja had all the answers and could shed some light on Ratchet's constant rebuttal. Jazz, not surprising for his part, could hardly keep his mouth shut. And the only thought running through his processor at that moment was...

_'Well, damn...'_

This was a revelation that the older mech had not been expecting, and certainly it left him feeling vaguely... helpless. He had never been that good with matters of the spark, when it concerned love and bondmates. Especially when it dealt with rejection and unrequited feelings. Usually, the cyberninja left that sort of advise to more older, experienced mechs. But the only one who fit that description was Ratchet -and he was the cause of all these problems! Jazz slowly released an intake, trying to gather his scattered thoughts and possibly help the jettwins. He couldn't just push them away now that he knew the truth; not when they were so desperate for his help as well. Holding Jetstorm and Jetfire closer, Jazz hummed cybertronian lullabies into their audios until they had calmed down some once again. "I want to understand everything," he said, peering down into the younglings' optics. "Can you help me? Tell me everything that happened, please?"

Jetstorm was the first to push away. Wiping shaking servos across his cheekplates, the flyer nodded his head acquiescently. "W-we... tell...," he hiccuped. Jetfire copied his brother's motion, denta biting into his lip components as he straightened into a sitting position beside his twin. Jazz listened quietly as the two mechs explained to him what had happened in the last couple weeks -from their hunt for wasp, their beginning feelings for Ratchet, the explosion and up until what had happened a few breems ago. He did not question or prod for more information when they trailed off at parts, obviously retracting certain facts that the Guardsmech could probably do without hearing. Coming to the end of the jettwins' explanation -coolant pooling along the edges of their optics once again- Jazz set his processor to puzzling out this new bit of data, focused on finding possible reasoning behind the medic's recent actions.

"And... you said that he seemed to get even angrier every time Sentinel was brought up?," the cyberninja asked, fingers scratching at his chin thoughtfully. Jetstorm and Jetfire nodded their helms weakly.

"H-he rage g-got full... when S-sentinel Prime, sir, be mentioned," Jetfire mumbled.

"R-ratchet, sir, s-saying Sentinel l-liar well be as... d-deserving not of t-the praising," Jetstorm added.

Jazz could see where that was coming from though. If he was correct in his thinking about how Ratchet was feeling -and mind you, he only had the younglings' viewpoint of the matter to go off by- then the autobot medic's anger wasn't so off the handle as it appeared. "You boys don't remember how ya all were hyping over Sentinel's arrests, do you?," the cyberninja asked. He was not surprised when two confused stares met his own.

Grinning a little, and feeling awfully confident in his deduction, Jazz reached out a servo and patted both of the flyers' helms. "Now, I can't be entirely certain, but... I'm pretty sure Ratchet was just jealous."

"J-jealous?," came the confused twitters.

"Yea," Jazz replied. "I mean, you were all pretty much fawning over SP, even big ol' captain of ours was feeling just a tad uncomfortable. And I'm thinking even Ratchet was a mite unsettled by your attention on SP. Ya gotta remember, boys, he's older than the both of us... different time frame, different customs. Even as ordinary as it seems these cycles, I'm quite sure such behaviour would have been considered rude or even cruel back in Ratchet's days. That's probably why he got so upset."

The smile that came to Jetstorm's and Jetfire's face could have rivaled the entire galaxy. They launched themselves at Jazz, knocking the bigger mech to the floor once again, kissing him profusely on his cheekplates, before rolling off him all together and snuggling with one another on the command deck floor. "So think?," one cooed. "Possible being it?," questioned the other one hopefully. Jazz lifted himself to his pedes, watching as the twins nuzzled each other, chirruping in joyous fashion.

A few astroseconds more of this display and they were untangling themselves, hurrying to their pedes. "See Ratchet must!," Jetfire exclaimed, turning to the door. Jetstorm followed his lead, ready to bolt out when his brother did.

"Woah, woah, woah!," Jazz cried, jumping before the younglings. "You 'bots just can't run on outta here. You've got your shift to do... and as much as I'm sure you'd love to go jump dear, ol' Ratchet, try to remember: He's feeling a little sour still, probably thinking you like SP and all. Give the mech time to catch some air and recharge a little, and then approach him in the morning, when he's more clear of processor. Okay?"

The flyers pouted at the other mech's words, knowing he was right. As usual... Still, they really wanted to see Ratchet now. Was that really what had been bothering the medic? The thought that they could possibly love Sentinel more than him? Ridiculous for sure. The Jettwins loved Ratchet through and through -no way could their arrogant captain be a substitute for the CMO. And now they just had to prove it, so Ratchet would finally accept them and bond with them, and-

They snapped into focus when they realized Jazz was waving a servo before their faceplates. "Yes... okay...," Jetstorm sighed, submitting to his superior's orders.

"Finish shift we are," Jetfire bemoaned as well. "But after, see Ratchet we must!"

Jazz felt his lip components quirk into another grin, spark feeling light in the face of the younglings' evident happiness. "I wouldn't expect it any other way," he told them, straightening up. "Have a good shift, Jetfire, Jetstorm. And make sure you apologize clearly when you see Ratchet in the morning."

And with that, the cyberninja was finally heading off for a well-deserved recharge.

**xxXxXxx**

When Earth's sun rose the next morning, Ratchet was still feeling grouchy and irate, though now that anger was heavily overshadowed by his guilt. His spark was puttering oddly; processor thinking back on the tears he could almost feel along his back struts, even now. Why had he been so mean to the jettwins, he wondered. Had it really been necessary to confront them like that, to yell and rage like he'd done? A part of his logistics tried to argue the case, but even the CMO knew that his behaviour had been extreme. Now it'd seem unlikely that Jetstorm and Jetfire would come after him again this time 'round...

Joints creaking and groaning, Ratchet slid off his berth, servo running down his faceplates tiredly as he made his way to his berthroom door. Opening it, he started out into the hallway, noticing finally how quiet it was in the warehouse. There was the muted sounds of the television from the common room, and puzzled, the medic headed in that direction. He wasn't all that surprised to find Bumblebee glued in front of the flat-screen, game controller in his hands. "And just what are you doing?," the older 'bot asked.

Bumblebee started at the sudden question, pausing his game blindingly and turning to face the other autobot. "Playing video games," the scout answered simply.

"Yes, I can see that," Ratchet snipped, feeling much too testy to put up with insolent younglings this morning. The medic stopped himself before he could growl any more cold words, rubbing at the bridge of his oflactory sensors in a perfect imitation of Optimus. "Where are the others, Bumblebee?"

"Oh them?," the smaller 'bot replied, turning back to his video game. "Boss 'bot and Prowl went over to glitch-head's ship; apparently Sentinel commed them earlier this cycle to show off something. Sari and Buklhead went out to the park in the meantime."

So basically nothing was happening. Ratchet frowned, crossing his arms over his chassis. Why hadn't Optimus bothered to inform him of where he was going? Their captain was usually a lot more responsible than that... _'But that's not what's really bugging you,'_ a little voice whispered at the back of his processor. Ratchet shook off the phantasmal speaker, but couldn't dislodge the words seeping into his circuitry. Of course the voice was correct -the only reason he was feeling so irritated with Optimus' lack of communication was because that meant that the medic was left behind, while the others went to the Elite Guard ship... leaving him without an excuse to head over there himself, and see the jettwins.

Releasing a weary intake, Ratchet turned about on his pede and walked out from the common room; intent on getting some fuel and possibly locking himself back up into their base's makeshift medbay. His refueling went off without a hitch, but it was getting to the medbay that turned out to be more of a problem. Walking through the archway, Ratchet was stunned into stillness as his optics rested on the two mechs standing in the middle of the room, waiting for the CMO. At his entrance, Jetfire and Jetstorm lifted their helms, peering up at the medic almost uncertainly. When nothing was said after a few astroseconds, the twins charged across the room, throwing themselves at Ratchet. To his credit, the older 'bot managed to grab them, keeping his balance though he swayed dangerously on his pedes. In his arms, the younglings struggled to shift closer to his chassis, placing kisses on any part of Ratchet that they could reach. Blushing, the medic hurried to get the medbay doors closed, waddling across the room and depositing both flyers on the nearest berth.

"N-now, just what, what I may ask is-"

Ratchet was cut off from his embarrassed questioning by Jetfire getting to his knees and pulling the mech down for kiss. The CMO thought his optics just might fritz out and his spark leap from its protective casing. The orange youngling placed more pressure on their connected lip components, coolant pooling about his optics as he shuttered them; glossa dipping out to lick at the other's sealed lip components. Ratchet felt his systems chug into life again, heat starting to gather in his interface equipment at the shy, desperate prodding. Before he could open his mouth to Jetfire, the flyer was pulling back, giving room for his brother to leap forward this time and capture the medic's mouth in a needy kiss. Ratchet felt his intakes hitch at the assault, mouth opening an inch in surprise, and allowing Jetstorm the opportunity to slip his glossa inside the older 'bot's mouth. He tried to resist, but the CMO eventually let his systems do as they wished; using his own glossa to draw Jetstorm's in further before turning tables and quickly dominating the youngling's mouth. The blue flyer at his chassis shivered with a moan, before Ratchet reigned in control of his programming, pulling back from the jettwins and the dangerous temptation they posed.

"A-alright," Ratchet gruffed, trying to calm the budding charge in his circuitry. "W-what was that all for?"

Jetstorm played with his fingers anxiously, helm turned down, while Jetfire looked up at the medic almost meekly, his own worry evident on his faceplates. "W-we... coming to do the sorries," the orange youngling started, voice soft, as if afraid of rebuke. "Not making you angry we wanting be..."

"Here come, we are, to be clearing the up with you," Jetstorm added. "Not thinking we like Sentinel, sir, hoping know you that are we. He captain is being... you spark-love only. Other 'bots not."

It was just like they had always been saying, Ratchet noted. "Y-you... don't have to a-apologize...," the medic stammered, feeling guilt and joy twist together through his pistons.

"Doing so, we must!," the twins exclaimed together. "Upset feelings of you first, before us being hurt."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ratchet said, exasperation slipping back into his tone. "You kids did nothing wrong, it was me who was-" the CMO stopped himself, took an intake and turned his gaze to the floor- "It was my fault... you shouldn't have to apologize. I'm... sorry."

Jetfire and Jetstorm shifted on the berth, reaching out and wrapping the rigid medic up into a hug. Ratchet felt like all his systems had suddenly crashed. After everything that had happened, he had not expected to have the jettwins hugging him; helms nuzzling into his neck cables and along the glass of his chassis. You'd think he would have found the kisses more mind-boggling... "Okay is," Jetfire hummed, pulling Ratchet closer.

"You jealous only; understanding we are," Jetstorm purred, servos pawing gentle at the medic's chassis. At the younglings' words, Ratchet felt a frown come to his lip components; cheekplates heating up with embarrassment. He thought to open his mouth and say something, but he was quickly silenced a second time when the jettwins stood up on their knees again, planting a chaste kiss each on the corners of the CMO's lip components.

"Alright, that's enough," Ratchet grumbled, pulling his helm back a little. "Don't get ahead of yourselves."

The flyers both looked disappointed at the older mech's words, but they quickly cheered anyway. To steal all those kisses from the medic, and not be pushed away... oh, such opportunities thrilled their sparks, and made pleasant, buzzing jolts run along their sensor net. They had never been happier!

"You... uh, s-should probably head back to your ship now. No doubt you're tired from your shift and, umm... yeah," Ratchet said, trailing off closer to the end. Jetfire and Jetstorm still had their arms around his chassis, and did not look like they wished to leave whatsoever. At the mention of recharge though, their optics shuttered slightly; intakes escaping them heavily in yawn-like release. "C'mon," the medic urged, gently prying off the younglings' servos. "You need to get some recharge."

"We staying here can, please?"

Ratchet blinked in surprise. "Well, I mean, I was going to do some work..."

"Not minding...," Jetfire yawned again, already stretching out onto the berth below them. Jetstorm followed his brother, nuzzling into his twin's side; twining their limbs together. "Be okay... mind not noise we will," the blue flyer murmured, tucking his helm under Jetfire's chin.

"Long as we being with here you, we not care," they finished in unison, yawning again before they drifted off to recharge altogether. Ratchet watched as the jettwins dozed off, feeling his spark lighten with the sight before him. Unable to resist, the medic reached out and ran his fingers along each of the younglings' helm; smiling when Jetstorm and Jetfire cooed in recharge at his petting.

Well, it wasn't exactly what he wanted, or what he had planned, but Ratchet was finding he couldn't complain all that much anymore.

In a much better mood now, the medic turned around and headed to the medbay cupboards; getting started on the tasks he had meant to begin when he had first come in earlier. Behind him, the flyers continued to recharge peacefully.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Diagnosis**

Jetfire and Jetstorm had snuck over to the warehouse again.

Ratchet shifted a little on the berth, trying his best not to disturb the two recharging younglings curled up along his sides and partially on his chassis. Thankfully, the jettwins remained unconscious, chirruping slightly in the back of their vocalizers as they moved in closer to the medic. This was the second time within an orn that they had left the Steel Haven and had snuck over to visit Ratchet... but the ambulance wasn't going to chew them out this time.

Quietly, he glanced down at the slumbering flyers, servos gently stroking their wings and helms. Earlier when they had come in, there had been a great deal of fuss; between the tears Jetfire and Jetstorm were crying, to the sudden inexplicable need for his presence, Ratchet had been almost thrown as to what to do. Eventually though, he had succumbed and managed to get the younglings to calm down some with a promise that they could stay the night with him. They had jumped at the offer immediately. Watching over the recharging twins now, the CMO couldn't help but feel sympathetic towards them.

Despite their junior Elite Guard status, Jetfire and Jetstorm were still younglings -war was something new to them. Indeed, much of Cybertron was lucky these stellar cycles. The Great War, which still continued to wage as long as Megatron and his followers were active, had become such a muted thing after the great Decepticon Leader had been banished to the recesses of space, leaving their home planet essentially in a state of relative peace. Many of the younger generation weren't even aware that Decepticons were still functioning; the most danger seen was that which might fall on a 'bot these days as accidents at the energon farm.

Offlining was a rare occasion.

Offlining through malicious intent? The concept was practically nonexistent.

The jettwins were learning in a harsh way how much of their old life was naught but silly exhaust fumes when compared to the reality faced here on Earth. And what a way it was...

Their Supreme Commander, Ultra Magnus, the once great and powerful Autobot leader, was now in extensive care; wavering on the precipice of function and offlining. His wounds were crippling, severe, and administered with as much hate and precision that it had been a battle within itself just to keep the older mech online long enough to transport him to Cybertron's medbay. When Optimus and Sentinel had finally tapped through to Cybertron earlier that joor, neither of the 'bots present had been expecting to hear about Ultra Magnus' fall to the double-agent Shockwave. Indeed, any animosity that had risen between the two mechs during Sentinel's under-handed dealings with Lockdown had immediately shied away in the face of such brutal news. Jetfire and Jetstorm had reacted accordingly to the situation, this being the first near-murder they ever had to handle since onlining.

It was why they had come running to Ratchet in the first place, needing that consolation and proof that the CMO wouldn't suddenly disappear on them just as their Supreme Commander almost had. Knowing all this, the medic did not mind letting them curl up on his berth, tucked in along his sides as they attempted to recharge for the night. In the morning though, he would probably send them both off again. With the vacancy in leadership, Sentinel would have to fill in Ultra Magnus' role until a new Magnus had been elected... or unless Ultra Magnus managed to recover enough to resume the mantel. In either case, that meant that the jettwins would be going back to Cybertron with their commander; while Ratchet stayed on Earth, helping Optimus deal with the Decepticon threat.

The medic almost felt... sad, thinking about Jetfire and Jetstorm leaving.

But, he supposed, that was an issue to dwell on for another day.

Exhaling quietly, the CMO began to manually shutdown his systems, instating the recharge program. As his optics began to dim and then offline entirely, Ratchet had one last fleeting thought before recharge took him: that every 'bot had their own ways of coping, and that tomorrow, he'd be trudging on through this tragedy... as he did with nearly every other situation...

**xxXxXxx**

It was warm.

Jetfire and Jetstorm shifted closer to the source of heat, fingers touching over the cool metal beneath their servos. They could almost hear the pulsing of another spark against their audio receptors, and onlining their optics, there were quick to see why.

_'Brother...,'_ Jetstorm sighed happily across their bond, not feeling up to speaking through his vocalizer yet. He tilted his helm just slightly, looking up at Ratchet. _'He us with staying all night.'_

_'Yes, brother,'_ the orange flyer replied, shifting again within in the crook of the medic's arm. _'Ratchet keep promises... soothe of us...'_ Jetfire cut off his thought right there, nuzzling the CMO's chassis further. He did not want to think of the reasons which had brought him and his twin to Ratchet's berthroom, knowing that it would only upset him again; bringing coolant to his optics. Still, he was glad to know that even in tragedy, Ratchet was willing enough now to allow the jettwins to stay with him through the night, comforting them even in recharge.

Jetstorm's own prodding thoughts through their bond broke his twin out of his musings, bringing attention back to the blue flyer. _'I...I wanting touch of more Ratchet,'_ the other youngling confessed, peering at Jetfire over the medic's chassis. _'Wanting of to feel Ratchet, sir, inside. Patient trying to be are I, but...'_

Jetstorm trailed off, but Jetfire understood what his brother meant. _'He interfacing with us not since then... Kiss not even until do such we first.'_ It made the younglings happy that they were able to have such moments with the love of their sparks; all the same, Ratchet was refraining from physical contact with the jettwins as much as possible, and though they had come to accept this as part of the CMO's regular behaviour... it hurt them some still. They wanted to do stuff that all the bonded couples did: kiss, hug and interface; things like that. Especially interfacing...

Sentinel had been such a pain in the aft recently, that Jetfire and Jetstorm had not been able to get a moment's rest to themselves; even less so, because any free time the flyers managed to procure -whether through normal or sneaky means- was then spent trying to be with Ratchet. That left the younglings with virtually no time to interface, an act that they used to share quite frequently. The need to merge with one another was growing... but it paled in comparison to the fervent desire to interface with the medic, more so now that he wasn't outright rejecting them and seemed to even embrace some of their feelings. That constant wish left their systems burning with a slow, heavy fire at all times. Unless the fire in their circuitry grew to an unbearable inferno, the jettwins would try to hold off on merging with one another, until Ratchet agreed to joining them.

Still...

At Jetfire's agreement to his silent wishes, the blue youngling began to grin mischievously, his fingers tracing swirling patterns on Ratchet's chassis. His orange brother could feel the other's deviancy through the bond, and lifted in an optic ridge at the naughty feelings he sensed from Jetstorm's spark. _'Brother...?'_

_'Not bad being, if having one taste just, yes?'_

_'What taste? Wh- oh...'_ Jetfire's optics widened as he realized what his twin was saying, before a grin worked its way to his own lip components. Slyly, he glanced down Ratchet's chassis, to where his hood tapered off before showing his knee joints. _'Idea bad not,'_ he purred in response to Jetstorm, who grinned wider, pressing blushing cheekplates into the medic's side almost shyly

Together the two of them sat up, taking care to first remove the CMO's servos from around their shoulders and rest them on the free space of the berth. They moved as quickly and quietly as possible; eager to get started, but not wishing to wake Ratchet up either. If he were online, then he would surely stop them before they could do what they wanted.

_'So handsome...,'_ Jetstorm shivered, trailing his servos down the ambulance's frame lightly. He ran his fingers down seams and into joints, purring when he heard Ratchet's fans heave a little at the coy touches. His visor flashed with amusement, joy and desire as the older 'bot's core temperature rose a notch when his fingers traced the edges of his pelvic plating, right over his codpiece.

_'Very,'_ Jetfire agreed. He had already made his way down most of the berth and now sat crouched at Ratchet's pedes. His servos joined his brother's, and together they were able to coax Ratchet's codpiece into retracting, releasing his spike and port to the atmosphere. As one, the jettwins sighed breathlessly, practically transfixed by the sight before them. The dormant charge in their circuitry became a blaze.

Jetstorm shifted so that he sat like Jetfire on Ratchet's other side, before leaning forward a little more and tentatively flicking his glossa over the spike's rounded tip. He was rewarded with a small groan from the medic, who thankfully stayed in recharge still. Emblazoned now, the blue flyer wrapped his mouth around the width of the spike, licking a trail all the way down to the base. Jetfire took that moment to move in as well, resting one servo against the medic's thigh, while his other servo and mouth closed about the top half of Ratchet's spike. The ambulance's fans were on full-crank at this point, transfluid beginning to seep from the tip of his cable. The orange youngling was granted his first sample of the older mech's fluids... and he liked what he tasted.

Jetfire bobbed on the head quickly now, trying to draw forth more of that transfluid; greatly enjoying the way it tickled the taste sensory net along the back of his glossa, before sliding down his tubing and entering his fuel tanks hotly. Jetstorm below him continued to suckle the base of Ratchet's spike, every once in a while pulling back to lap at any fluids that trickled down the medic's plating; trailing his glossa over the other's port hesitantly -eager to taste, but not wanting to push too far in case that was something Ratchet did not like having done to him. Neither were too concerned at this point about the CMO waking up, and indeed almost didn't notice as the frame beneath them suddenly spiked in temperature; cooling fans whirring with a distinctive whine as they were practically pushed past their limit, forcing Ratchet from recharge.

"W-what the slag?!," Ratchet choked, shooting up suddenly. The motion was enough to toss Jetstorm back and onto the floor, but Jetfire remained where he was resolutely. In fact, with his brother gone now, the orange youngling was unobstructed and he quickly swallowed the medic whole, wanting to get more of that spike. Grunting with the restrained moans, Ratchet overloaded, already stimulated from the jettwins actions during his sleep; further amplified upon waking and finding both flyers between his legs, mouths wrapped around his pressurized spike. He was vaguely aware of Jetfire gasping in shock, pulling away as his transfluid shot forth, groaning in loss of the wonderful heat that had surrounded his spike. Everything else though was forgotten as he fell back onto the berth, engine roaring as the energy of overload crackled through him.

Jetfire had not expected that. Taking heavy intakes, the youngling pulled away from Ratchet's spike just as a stream of transfluid shot out. Most of it filled his gaping mouth, but some sprayed out with the force of the medic's release and splattered along the flyer's face. He gasped in shock, inadvertently almost choking on the liquid in his mouth. Jetfire managed to catch himself in time though, and he languidly swallowed Ratchet's transfluid; rolling it along his glossa and enjoying the taste. Some of it, he noted, had even got on his fingers. Licking the digits clean of the sticky fluid, Jetfire slowly slid his free servo down his body, cupping his groin where lubricant was already seeping past the seams of his codpiece.

Oh, primus... he was so charged...

He felt more than heard the whimper, and turning his helm, the orange mech finally took notice of his twin sitting on the floor looking up at him almost piteously. Jetfire then realized that Jetstorm had been knocked away upon Ratchet's waking and did not get to partake in the medic's overload. "Oh, brother...," the other flyer purred, sliding off the berth and curling up on the floor with his twin. "Wanting taste, yes?"

"Yes!," Jetstorm practically croaked. He grabbed Jetfire's servo and started licking off the traces of transfluid and hot oil. The orange youngling could only smile sympathetically, before grabbing the blue mech's chin with his other servo, drawing them into a heated kiss. Their glossas rolled along each other, stroking and mapping out familiar denta; sharing a taste of hot oil that they had known of for stellar cycles before hand, now mixed in with a strange but entirely pleasant taste -Ratchet's transfluid.

From behind, they heard a groan; pulling apart, they looked over their shoulders to see Ratchet staring down at them, his optics blazing a vibrant blue. Little jolts travelled down their chassis, their sparks puttering erratically. The lust in the medic's gaze made them shiver in wanton, Jetfire and Jetstorm both knowing what would be coming next.

"JETTWINS!"

The roar through their comm link, rattling their frames and making them yip in surprise, was not what they had been expecting. Rubbing his sore audio receptor tenderly, Jetstorm was the first to tap into the Steel Haven's communication network. "Y-yes, Sentinel Prime sir?," the blue flyer asked hesitantly.

"Your shift started two breems ago! WHERE THE FRAG ARE YOU?!"

"W-we sorry, sir," Jetfire attempted to apologize, "N-not meaning to late being of sh-shift-"

"As if I care!," Sentinel growled over the comm link. "Get your afts down here, double-time, or it's the brig for the both of ya!"

The jettwins waited until their commander had cut the connection before sighing aloud. With crest-fallen expressions, they looked back to Ratchet, silently picking themselves up of the floor. "Making we be us of the sorries," the two mumbled together in unison. "And, thanking of you as well... w-we last night needing to be with you."

Embarrassed now, they quickly turned away; leaving the berthroom and heading back to their ship.

Ratchet could only watch them go, too stunned to properly react. His codpiece was still retracted, and his spike thrummed as another charge was slithering through his systems. Anger, and disbelief, were waging war inside of him. Anger because yet again, Sentinel proved to have just the worst timing ever; disbelief, because in all his vorns, the medic never thought he would wake up to not one but two, beautiful, charming and strong 'bots between his legs. Swallowing his spike as if they were hungry, little petrorabbits and his cable was the only source of energon for miles around. Oh, Primus...

Ratchet groaned again, letting himself fall back on the berth and staring up at the ceiling.

How long had it been since he had been able to charge again so quickly after an overload? A long time, the CMO noted... But that's what he was feeling right now, and the mech desperately wished that Sentinel would go frag off so that he could have the jettwins all to himself again. He would admit now, and only now, that he wanted them. Wanted them so bad, he had been astroseconds away from jumping them before Sentinel had commed and demanded that the younglings return to the ship immediately.

In his processor he couldn't stop replaying the memory files; focusing in on the luscious pale lip components that had wrapped about the width of his spike, cheeks plump and flush as Jetfire had bobbed on his interface equipment. And then afterwards, when the orange flyer had slipped to the floor to join his brother... kissing each other heatedly, glossa twining and frames pressed tight together; whimpering with desire as they passed Ratchet's transfluid between their mouth, like it was the best thing they had ever tasted...

He had to stop thinking about this, Ratchet decided. It was doing nothing for the charge jolting across his circuitry, and instead, it was just making it worse. He wasn't sure he could get himself to calm down without overloading first before he had to go meet up with Optimus and the others.

Again, damn Sentinel to the Pit for his terrible timing...

**xxXxXxx**

Sentinel had decided to stay.

Twirling through the air, performing dives and hairpins through the thin cloud layer, Jetfire and Jetstorm found their thoughts to be on topics outside of their mission. Despite even Optimus' protests and the horrible news of Ultra Magnus' fall, their commander had decided to remain here on Earth; insistent on tracking down and capturing Wasp. It certainly didn't make sense to their processors -after having ascertained that Shockwave was the real spy, posing as Head of Autobot Intel Longarm Prime, Wasp was cleared of all charges of treason. The poor deranged 'bot didn't know this, but had not caused any trouble since disappearing somewhere in Detroit after their arrival. If he was innocent and not wreaking havoc... then what point was there in chasing him down?

_'Brother, hoping Ratchet not being mad of us with for this morning,'_ Jetstorm sighed as he spiralled through the sky wildly, still keeping an optic out for any sign of Wasp.

_'He not be thinking are I,'_ Jetfire replied over their bond. The orange flyer shot forward suddenly, rocketing up into the sky before cutting his engines and free-falling for a bit. _'... me hope...'_

_'Hearing how satisfied was he?,'_ his twin asked immediately, trying to draw away from the bout of negativity that began to overcome them. Jetstorm pulled up the memory file, playing it over their bond so Jetfire could see as well. _'Cooling fans making of screechy noise, and moans that be falling out of mouth...'_

_'Remembering are I, brother,'_ Jetfire assured the other mech. He shivered in remembrance, heat oozing forth from his spark. _'Ratchet, sir, taste being so lovely...'_

There was a spit of static over their comm links, before Optimus voice was coming through. "I've got a visual," the firetruck announced. "It's Wasp alright. He's making a real mess..."

Surprised, the two jets immediately adjusted their headings; locating Optimus' signal and flying to his sector. Wasp had really made an appearance?

"What's his heading?," Bumblebee's voice cut in next. Even over the frequency he sounded just a little too eager to have found the ex-traitor.

"I... don't even think he knows," was Optimus' reply. The jettwins were pulling in close now. Glancing down they saw the string of crashed automobiles that lay in the wake of Wasp's passing. For a non-hostile 'bot, the green scout sure could cause some chaos.

"Wasp is mine!," Sentinel declared randomly.

Jetfire and Jetstorm peeked through the clouds as their commander transformed and leapt for the fleeing Wasp; over estimating his jump and in turn colliding with Optimus and Bumblebee, both of whom had transformed to bi-pedal mode the moment that Sentinel had. The younglings cringed as they heard the screech of metal amplified over their comm links, puttering on ahead. They already knew that if they stood and watched, the truck would get angry at them and just yell for them to chase after Wasp anyways. Better to be one-step ahead of their commander and spare themselves the punishment.

All thoughts of Ratchet, Ultra Magnus and their morning activities were shoved to the back of their processors as the flyers pressed onwards; keeping a wary optic on the mad mech. When they could hear the following argument between their commander and Optimus begin to escalate, they wisely intervened. "Jetfire to Sentinel Prime," the orange youngling cut in, "Target Wasp sighted heading North, North-East."

"Moving to intercept!," Jetstorm chimed in.

"Roger that," Sentinel replied. "On my way."

The jettwins sighed in relief as they heard their superior transform and begin to follow them.

**xxXxXxx**

"Excuse me... they've gone WHERE?!"

"To Dinobot Island," Optimus repeated, sounding strained over the comm link. "Listen, Ratchet, I need you to come down to the pier. Sentinel's being incredibly headstrong and refuses to answer any of my comms. At this rate, I'll have no choice but to go out after him and hopefully head him off before he runs into Blackarachnia and the Dinobots. In the likelihood that we do have an encounter with her, I'll need you near by to administer medical attention."

"...I'm going to offline him," the medic growled. "I'm going to disassemble his motherboard, sell his parts and then use his empty helm to clean my tools in!"

Optimus was quiet. "C'mon, Boss 'bot! I can't see Sentinel bouncing on the waves anymore," said Bumblebee's voice over the comm link.

"Please, just come Ratchet," Optimus said. Leaders did not plead. Ignore the almost tired exhaustion of his tonal modulator... "We will need someone with your expertise on hand."

"I'm coming," Ratchet grouched. He threw some medical tools into his subspace, rifling around through his drawers for any others that he might need. He heard Optimus mumble an affirmation, before the connection was cut and all was silent again. Or, well, as silent as it could be with an angry medic throwing medical equipment back and forth; cursing up a storm about aft-headed, power-hungry punks.

Ratchet really wasn't pleased. He had seen the Dinobots before their "amazing transformation" into full Transformers. The power and destructive force they had exhibited then was enough to overpower their make-shift maintenance team; he could only assume that they had grown stronger in the meantime and now he worried for the jettwins' safety. Not that he didn't think that Jetfire and Jetstorm couldn't take care of themselves...

They weren't junior Elite Guards for nothing.

But, slaggit, everything was confusing as hell!

Ultra Magnus had fallen, Cybertron was in chaos, Sentinel was being an idiot chasing innocent mechs, and the jettwins had woken him up in the most pleasant way possible this morning... How was a 'bot supposed to wrap his processor around all of this?! Primus, the only thing he could even think of really was coaxing Jetfire and Jetstorm back to his base and his berth, and properly thanking them for that wonderful overload this morning.

Hearing that Sentinel was dragging his two younglings -he was hesitant to say lovers or the like, not having confessed such acceptance himself- around, putting them in dangerous situations with his careless behaviour just made him so angry!

Ratchet had to stop thinking about all of this. It was only going to frustrate him the more he thought about it.

Exhaling heavily, the medic scooped up the last of his tools, subspacing them all before transforming and heading for the port just as Optimus had asked.

**xxXxXxx**

He wasn't going to ask. He wasn't.

If he opened his mouth, Ratchet just knew that he wouldn't be able to stop the string of curses that would be unleashed from his vocalizer. Instead, the medic settled for casting cold glares over his shoulder plating to the complaining Sentinel as he tended to the dents on Bumblebee's frame. "I-it was crazy Ratchet," the scout was saying. He was strangely subdued, the CMO noticed, and he turned his attention back to the youngling. "I mean, Wasp just... he wasn't Wasp anymore. And then he was just like Blackarachnia, a-and... and he disappeared... t-the both of them... Just exploded. Boom. Gone. Nothing left where they were standing..."

Optimus had given him a run-down report of what had happened after they had arrived back on the docks, thankfully saving Ratchet the effort of demanding the information. From his spot at the port all he had seen was a flash of blinding light, and the next moment, half the island was gone. The medic almost had a systems crash from pure terror. It was like deja vu all over again, and Ratchet was hard-pressed to keep from driving grill-first into the lake. He had never been so relieved in his life when he saw the jettwins flying back over the water, struggling to carry their three companions along the way. Seeing their dents and scrapes, minor injuries despite the scary explosion that he had witnessed, Ratchet felt easier pulling his equipment out of subspace and getting ready to repair Optimus and the others.

"It's alright, kid," Ratchet said now, trying to soothe Bumblebee. The youngling looked up at him, blue optics conflicted. "Things will be okay, you hear me? Alright, I've fixed you up -you're free to stand now."

Nodding his head in acknowledgement, the scout got to his pedes, wandering off to stand with Optimus and Sentinel. His injuries being less and well enough to repair on his own, the firetruck had graciously offered to bang out Sentinel's dents on his own. The two were at the moment bickering quietly, which was unusual. Or, well, the blue Prime was arguing half-heartedly, while Optimus stayed unnaturally silent. A sight that was odd for both leaders. Blackarachnia's "death" must have hit them both harder than either could have anticipated, the medic supposed. Maybe now, things would change between them...

"Ratchet, sir."

Ratchet turned his attention away from the other three mechs, slipping his wrenches back into his toolbox, before subspacing the container. Silently, he looked to the two flyers now standing at his side; cheekplates quirked with awkward grins. "H-happy are you being to see of us, sir?," Jetfire asked.

"Very," the medic confessed quietly. He sighed and with a cautious backwards glance, quickly reached out and stroked the jettwins' helms. The CMO was almost unable to hide the smile that came as their engines purred at the gentle caress. "Thought for a moment it was the fire all over again."

"We not worry being," Jetstorm said, keeping mute as Ratchet withdrew his servos again. Jetfire though could not suppress his whine.

"Oh, I bet you weren't," Ratchet sighed. "Younglings have hardly concern about your own function. Too wrapped up in the belief that you're indestructible and that nothing can stop you."

"So even...," Jetfire replied, smiling up at the medic fondly, "We having you still to making of us the repairs when us be injured."

Ratchet decided not to reply to that.

"Ratchet," Optimus called. The medic and flyers turned to the firetruck, who was standing at attention now. Sentinel, sullen but silent, stood beside him along with Bumblebee. "We're heading back to the ship now."

"Alright," the ambulance responded, nodding. He transformed, and the rest followed the older 'bot's action, before they peeled out to the Steel Haven. This was it, wasn't it, Ratchet thought. The moment when the jettwins finally returned to Cybertron.

**xxXxXxx**

"Thanks for everything, OP," Jazz started, holding out a servo for Optimus. With his crew at his back, and the boarding dock of Steel Haven open just next to him, the firetruck quietly reached out and clasped the cyberninja's servo tightly in return. The mood was distinctly somber. "Sorry we gotta split so soon. I'll always dig this planet."

"That is making one of you," Jetfire tried to crack behind the Guardsmech.

Jetstorm giggled a little beside his twin. "Sentinel is definitely not digging organic insect 'bots."

Surprisingly, or not so to Ratchet, Optimus spoke up on behalf of the other Prime. "C'mon, ease up you two," the firetruck said. "He's been through a lot."

Jazz, Jetfire and Jetstorm especially shuttered their optics in shock, staring at Optimus as if he had suddenly announced he was a Decepticon traitor. "...Never thought I'd hear you sticking up for SP," Jazz remarked.

Optimus shrugged noncommittally at the comment. "He's a good 'bot... even if he doesn't know how to let go of a grudge."

"I can handle my own team, thank you," came Sentinel's obnoxious voice. Everybody looked up as the truck practically paraded down the ramp, arrogance back in full swing. With a passing glance to Optimus, the other Prime was turning his attention to his subordinates. "Now get your sorry shells aboard, DOUBLE-TIME!"

Ratchet could only scowl. Typical, arrogant, cranked idiots with a power seat... Jazz turned away first and was heading up the boarding ramp into Steel Haven, the two younglings following behind him. For an astrosecond though, both Jetfire and Jetstorm paused, glancing backwards at Ratchet. The medic caught their gaze, and was not surprised when he heard a ping inside his processor; a request to open a private frequency. The CMO established the link willingly.

_'We miss of you,'_ Jetstorm said sadly.

_'But hoping and knowing we meet of each other being soon again,'_ Jetfire added.

_'Agreed. I'll see both you later,'_ Ratchet replied. _'Take care.'_

Smiling, the flyers finally turned away and hustled up the last few steps into the ship. Noticing how close Sentinel and Optimus stood to each other, Ratchet turned to his own companions and crooked his finger; signalling that they should all follow him. Bulkhead, Prowl and even Bumblebee did so quietly, granting their superiors the moment's peace that they needed.

Tonight was a time of half-made bridges and farewells; silent promises of change and meeting once again.

And Ratchet himself was loathe to cheat anyone of that chance.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Recovery**

"Brother... Missing Ratchet are I."

Jetfire turned his helm at the sorrowful whisper, looking at his twin. Jetstorm laid across the roof of the bulkhead with him, but the blue flyer's visor was dim and a dark blue, fixated firmly on the stars twinkling above them. Unsure of what to say himself, the orange youngling turned his helm back to the sky, watching as the occasional space craft drifted past his line of sight. It had been two whole orns since they had been back on Cybertron -nearly a whole decacycle of traveling before that. Though they were glad to be back home, the younglings were just beginning to realize how lonely it all was.

"Same are I, brother," Jetfire replied after a klik, "...Missing of Earth as well are I."

Jetstorm did not answer, but his twin could feel his own feelings of that statement over the bond. Being on Earth had been such a new experience for the flyers. Not only had they met Ratchet, the love their sparks, but they had also met Optimus and the others. They had begun making friends with the other mechs, and even the strange techno-organic that came over to the Autobot warehouse often. But that was not all: the planet itself was amazing. All the different organisms, living together in a never-ending, overlapping existence. Each one varying from the next... there was so much diversity among the humans, yet through it all, there was a sort of acceptance for their fellow man. Even if he was a giant, bald-headed, big-nosed man with spotty skin.

He was not judged and then prosecuted for his own biological coding; ostracized and despised by all others afterwards.

The jettwins, who were very much grateful for the life they had now, had also been made suddenly aware of how different life on Cybertron was from life on Earth. The accident at the energon farm had almost offlined them both... Perceptor and Wheeljack had rebuilt them, as per order of the Elite Guard, imbedding decepticon coding into their own CNA and giving them new forms. To fly was an exhilarating feeling, heightened because they were the only ones who could do so, and that made them equals with the opposite faction's jets. Within the Council, the younglings were respected and treated like the junior soldiers that they were.

Outside...

Outside, they were hated and despised, feared and ignored. The citizens of Cybertron had spent eons knowing that anything that could fly was not to be trusted, and sooner shot dead before it could shoot you first. Never mind that Jetfire and Jetstorm bore the Autobot symbol proudly; the rest did not care, and made it quite apparent the last time the younglings had attempted to sneak out for some fun. They were not wanted or cared for... in fact, the jettwins were thought to be abominations.

How many cried out that they should be offlined, the flyers wondered.

Cybertron was their home, but when it refused to acknowledge your existence or even willingly accept you, how could you hold onto the feeling of warmth and comfort such a place used to bring you? It made for a very lonely place...

"Come brother," Jetfire mumbled, pushing himself up. The orange youngling looked to his twin, forcing a smile to his face. His spark was still heavy with sad thoughts, and he could feel the same in Jetstorm's. "Let us train go."

Jetstorm turned his gaze to his brother. "Not wanting go to are I...," the blue jet replied. Jetfire released a heavy intake, the smile on his face growing a little more sincere.

"Knowing are I, Jetstorm," the other flyer said. He held out his servo for Jetstorm to take; gripping his brother's servo and yanking the blue youngling to his pedes. "Training be fun, remember. Take processor from Ratchet off. Afterwards then, may of the being find Jazz... make trip to Earth going soon, perhaps."

Jetstorm's visor flared a little bit at the suggestion of returning to Earth. He hugged his brother tightly, resting his helm on the other's shoulder plating. With their chassis pressed tightly together, he could almost feel Jetfire's spark, and it soothed him greatly. Waves of love and concern flowed to him over their bond; mixed in with the swirls of sadness, loneliness and fear.

Jetfire stroked his wings, and the blue flyer gripped his brother tighter to him response, a small smile coming to his lip components. "Right of all being brother," Jetstorm said. "Go for training, will I."

The orange youngling's engine rumbled a little within; spark pulsing joyfully as he felt the smile return to his twin's faceplates. "Good of knowing. Let going us now."

**xxXxXxx**

He was back on Cybertron.

Ratchet felt his spark whirl excitedly, optics snapping from one titanium building to the next in rapid succession. The string of glowing blue lights, mixed between reds, greens and yellows blazed brilliantly just before the canvas of far-away stars. On his left, almost seen in the distance was the spacebridge nexus; to his right, the spiralling Towers of upper Iacon. And all around him was the sound of rotating gears, crankshafts, hissing pistons, the thrum of vocalizers and the scent of recycled oil.

Every single one, the signs of home.

The CMO wanted to laugh. He was almost tempted to throw his helm back and twirl in place -he was that ecstatic! It had been almost a couple vorns since he had last touched his planet's steel... a long enough time to even begin missing the dark, dank sewer system. A cry dragged the medic from his bliss though; sounds of some sort of commotion taking place the next street over. Frowning at the interruption, Ratchet stomped on over to the location. He was just in time to see the flashing of tailpipes as other 'bots ran from the vicinity, leaving behind a red femme and a giant, hulking white mech.

"Ewwww," the femme said, "Step on it!"

"H-hey!," came another, smaller voice of protest. It sounded oddly familiar to Ratchet...

The medic watched for a moment as the bigger mech lifted his pede, stomping it down on the ground several times before the CMO realized that the little shadow ducking out from the giant pede was none other than Captain Fanzone. The human tripped over his own feet as he yet again tried his best to avoid getting squashed; the shadow of the large Autobot's pede hovering over his curled up form.

This was just getting out of hand! A magnetic beam crossed the street, tangling about the mech's pede and keeping it from dropping on the poor Captain. "No 'bot is stepping on anyone!," the ambulance exclaimed. Transforming to alt-mode, Ratchet flung his passenger door open, allowing the flustered Fanzone to climb inside and away from his would-be murders. Tires squealing, the CMO hurried into the next available street.

"I can't believe we're on Cybertron," the old 'bot was saying to himself, hidden faceplates grinning in uncontainable glee. "Of all the places we transwarped... This is great!"

**xxXxXxx**

It was a dull day.

Jetfire and Jetstorm walked slowly from the training halls of Metroplex, conversing silently over their bond. Their limbs felt heavy and their joints a little sore, but it did not compare to the exhaustion in their processors. Typical Sentinel refused to go to Earth again any time soon. Still being under the truck's command, the flyers weren't even able to garner another team for the trip and had to comply to every single demand that their commander made. Thankfully, the blue Prime was being too power-happy with his temporary Magnus title to really annoy them with his usual, menial tasks.

Still, that left nothing for the jettwins to do, who would have loved to go see Ratchet again this very moment.

Oh, they were sooooooo bored!

"Brother... wanting to see Wheeljack make the booming?," Jetstorm proposed.

"No...," Jetfire replied, lip components pursed in a frustrated pout. "See booming yesterorn. Want not to see again."

The blue youngling fell quiet for an astrosecond, attempting to think of something else. Though the lack of action was bothering to himself as well, for Jetfire -who was always impulsive and eager to start the next activity- this dry spell was doing nothing for the other mech. His brother was getting restless; an antsy Jetfire was a rambunctious one. Jetstorm recalled well enough the jokes the orange flyer pulled the last time he was bored...

Alpha Trion had been sorely displeased with both of the younglings.

"Go see Jazz, might yes?," Jetstorm finally said, thinking of the cyberninja. Jazz usually knew of a few things to do when one was feeling frustrated, and anything that the older Guardsmech had to offer was surely better than the two of them walking about aimlessly, thinking hopeless thoughts about Ratchet and Earth.

Jetfire mulled it over, lifting his servos behind his helm. As they were rounding the corner, they spotted Perceptor from down the hall, exiting out of the council room with a thread of other 'bots. In a perfect demonstration of the orange flyer's capricious nature, Jetfire suddenly began hopping in place, waving his arms above his helm wildly. "Hello, Perceptor, sir!," he yelled down the hallway, startling more than several of the other 'bots.

Jetstorm, embarrassed by his twin's erratic behaviour, waved back all the same when the scientist turned at the call; gazing at each youngling in silence. Slowly, Perceptor raised his own servo, giving it a small wave in return. Pleased with himself, Jetfire skipped off down the next hallway, leaving his brother to stand behind by himself for a couple nanokliks; just long enough for the blue youngling to watch as the microscope lowered his servo, staring at it oddly, as if he knew not just what he had done. Chasing after the other youngling, Jetstorm was quick to grab Jetfire's wrist before his twin could get too far ahead.

"That wrong doing, brother," Jetstorm frowned.

The orange flyer scoffed, pushing on ahead. "Not was. Saying of hello's doing was only. Harm not in that."

The blue twin, still holding on to the other's wrist, gave it a harsh tug now; forcing Jetfire to turn around and look at him. Yellow optics narrowed angrily at his brother, annoyance spitting across the bond acidly. Jetstorm did his best not to quail at the nasty emotion, understanding that the other youngling wasn't doing it out of any real anger. "Should not pushing be of Perceptor," he said. "Perceptor has funny coding; vulnerable makes of him on council. Doing things such as that confuses him."

The jettwins had noticed since the moment they had come online again that something about Perceptor was off. Aside from his strange tonal modifier and his amazing brilliance -all attributes that could be individual to a 'bot naturally- there was a strange blankness in how the scientist acted. That blankness, the younglings were soon to realize, was a by-product of the numerous sub-routines that the microscope had uploaded to overwrite his emotional programming. Like caging his spark, and everything that he was, just so his processor could be used for scientific advancement throughout the war.

Another 'bot might not have cared...

But Jetfire and Jetstorm did. They had no recollections of their real creators or sires; they had been working on the energon farms since the time they were able to name the different parts of their frames. When they had onlined again after their accident, the jettwins were unable to halt the coding within them that immediately latched on to the concept that Perceptor and Wheeljack were their respective creator and sire. It wasn't entirely illogical really... after all, it was Perceptor that had drawn up the designs to implement Decepticon flight modules into them, essentially rebuilding them. And Wheeljack had done his part as well, assisting in the process of making sure that their new programs were synched correctly. The scientist and engineer held their own sentiments to the two younglings as well, noticeable to everyone who had met three of the four together.

As such, the jettwins were avidly concerned with their "mommy's" self-forced detachment. It was becoming more and more apparent that whatever firewalls Perceptor had put up were beginning to crumble, and Jetfire and Jetstorm did not want to see the microscope hurt when they fell completely. But when the orange flyer did random things like that, it only caused Perceptor's processor to fritz; breaking down his customized sub-routines even faster.

"I... sorry are I," Jetfire apologized softly, slacking in his brother's hold. Jetstorm smiled, wrapping his arms about the other youngling's waist. "So angry be I...," his twin grumbled further, sliding his own arms around the blue jet's chassis. "Miss Ratchet much are I, and want of seeing him. But Sentinel Prime, sir, not let us go... and no 'bot here us like..."

For the first time in a while, their roles were reversed and Jetstorm was now the one comforting his twin. The blue flyer pulled back just enough so that he could seal his lip components along the other's, servos rising up and massaging tense backstruts. Across their bond, he sent out waves of love and acceptance, engine purring contently when he felt the other spark turn into his phantasmal touch. The orange mech responded slowly, but when he finally did, he was mashing his mouth against his brother's desperately, attempting to steal more of his twin's affection.

"Jetfire! Jetstorm!"

The two mechs twisted apart, turning to their commander; faceplates lit with a deep blush. Sentinel looked positively disturbed as he stared down on the younglings, Jazz eyeing the back of the truck, before shooting considerate looks their way. Thankfully though, the blue Prime did not bother to make a spectacle of finding his two subordinates making out in the hallway, instead coughing uncomfortably and straightening to full-height.

"Crank it into gear, half-nodes. Readings indicate a transwarp energy field activated in lower Iacon. We're going to investigate."

"Sir, yes, sir!," the jettwins replied, saluting. Sentinel lifted his chin approvingly at their quick response, turning about on his pede and marching down the hall. Jetfire and Jetstorm followed behind at his heels; Jazz pulling up the rear.

**xxXxXxx**

Ratchet was here!

"You can take your curfew and your fear-mongering propaganda, and blow it out of your exhaust port, Sentinel Prime... sir!"

Jetstorm practically swooned listening to the grouchy CMO growl at their commander, tacking on the respectable title as an after-thought to what would have been a highly offensive statement. As it was, it still made Sentinel scowl; denta clenched tightly in his jaw.

"And I don't see a spacebridge around here; do you?," Ratchet continued snippily.

Three helms turned about at that. "Ah, his point," Jetstorm piped up, resting his visor back on Ratchet. "Is true!"

"Is no spacebridge," Jetfire, oh so graciously added. It was almost amusing to watch Sentinel shutter his optics dazedly, before the truck got angry all over again in the face of the medic's logic. Of course, that enjoyment only last for about as long as it took for the Prime to get all vindictive. Already, Sentinel was responding: puffing his chest out further and stepping into Ratchet's personal space.

"Well," Sentinel drawled accusingly, "If the transwarp energy we detected isn't coming from a spacebridge, then where is it coming from?"

The jettwins pouted angrily from behind Ratchet, barely noticing as the CMO's helm bowed slightly in thought. They were too busy trying their hardest not to glare at their commander -which was getting steadily more and more difficult as the truck continued to glare at the ambulance detestably. Why did Sentinel Prime have to be such a jerk for? Ratchet obviously hadn't been on Cybertron for very long, and already he was being harassed. If the medic was run off because of Sentinel, there would be two very unhappy younglings to deal with -especially if they were denied the chance to be alone with the older mech, one-on-one.

"...Omega Supreme," Ratchet mumbled, lifting his helm again. Jetfire and Jetstorm tore away from their angry musings, giving their full attention to the medic.

Who was Omega Supreme?

"Omega Supreme?," Sentinel repeated, before laughing obnoxiously. "Wasn't that over-sized 'bot decommissioned and melted down for spare parts?"

"That's the official story, yes," the CMO growled in reply, vocalizer making it quite clear that he wasn't impressed one bit by the truck's disrespect. Frowning, he pulled a scanner from subspace, holding it out in the atmosphere. Its screen blipped as it read the area; indiscernible information scrolling up its blue face. "He must still be here somewhere...," Ratchet was mumbling to himself again, "Giving off residual transwarp energy. Combine that with this electric storm, and boom -you've got yourself a spacebridge effect."

Once more, Jetstorm was amazed by the amount of wisdom Ratchet had. He could feel his spark whirling as the medic talked... Even if they were things that he didn't quite understand himself, he was content to bask in the sound of that handsome, gravelly vocalizer for vorns. Now if only Ratchet was whispering sweet things to him with that vocalizer... or maybe something perfectly naughty...

"So you expect me to believe Omega Supreme is still online, and just floating somewhere over Cybertron?," Sentinel spoke up, snide tone cutting through the beginnings of the blue flyer's pleasant simulations like a hot wire. Scowling, Jetstorm shot the Prime a nasty look, which -unfortunately, or fortunately- was unnoticed.

Thunder crackled overhead ominously, and only by pure chance did the red clouds part, revealing the form of a large mech, hovering just over Iacon city in a web of lightning. All optics were glued to the sight in utter astonishment; even Sentinel rubbed at his optics, almost distrusting that they were functioning properly.

"Omega Supreme?!," he started in disbelief.

Ratchet ignored the idiotic response, tapping away at his scanner. "No wonder my scans didn't pick him up... Interference from the storm!"

"This can't be," Sentinel continued, stepping closer to the medic. He practically loomed over the older mech now, and it didn't look as if the truck would be backing down any time soon. "I want this planet on full-security alert now!," he barked, addressing his subordinates.

"You two are coming with me," the blue mech said, turning his attention to Ratchet and Fanzone. At the silent command, Jazz and the jettwins stepped forward: Jetfire and Jetstorm clasping servos about the medic's arms, while the cyberninja lifted Captain Fanzone by the cuff of his shirt.

"...So let me guess. I'm not going home any time soon, huh?," the human retorted, before he was being carried off.

**xxXxXxx**

They had several breems before the next Council hearing began.

Ratchet paced the length of the room, grumbling to himself in a steady stream of low intakes, every once in a while something about idiots and power-trips making itself audible to those still in the vicinity. For a time, Jetfire and Jetstorm watched the medic stomp back and forth, but they slowly grew tired of it; their sparks aching for some of Ratchet's attention.

"Ratchet, sir...," Jetfire whined.

With a sigh, the CMO stopped his pacing, glancing at the flyers sitting at the room's only table. After Sentinel had locked him up in this room, declaring that he wasn't to go anywhere until the Council was ready to meet with the blue Prime, Jazz had decided as well that he needed to show Captain Fanzone something and quickly departed with the human as well. Leaving Ratchet all alone with the jettwins... That made the medic increasingly anxious. He didn't trust them, or himself, to be locked up in a room, unsupervised for any length of time. But apparently, trying to ignore Jetfire and Jetstorm was doing nothing more than upsetting the younglings further... and that pulled at the old mech's spark painfully.

The past megacycle without either of the jets was surprisingly difficult.

Honestly, Ratchet did not think that their separation would have been such a big deal. He had spent vorns as it was -away from home, away from friends, away from family. But to not have Jetfire and Jetstorm in his life constantly, as he had started to become accustomed to, made a sort of void within the mech, just near his spark. A hole that nothing else could fill.

"I... I'm glad to know that you're both in good shape," the medic said softly, returning to his pacing. Anything to keep his jumbled processor from lagging any further.

Two helms canted at the words.

Noticing this, Ratchet couldn't help but frown. "Optimus told me what happened on your way back here. About the Decepticon prisoners escaping and nearly running the lot of you into scrap. I'd have something to say to your commander, if he hadn't already been handed his aft to him by the Decepticons and Optimus."

"Worried was you?," Jetfire asked.

Jetstorm sat on the edge of his seat, waiting for the medic's answer.

"Of course I was!," the CMO growled, insulted that they would even imply he was that sparkless. "It's one thing to be under attack on Earth or here on Cybertron -it's another altogether when you're stranded in the middle of space, where help isn't likely to come anytime soon. If anything were to happen to you two..."

The jettwins felt their sparks pulse sharply in their chambers. Was this... was Ratchet really saying...? They leaned forward, anxiously waiting for the rest of what the ambulance would say. But Ratchet had already fallen silent, cheekplates stained with boiled energon. "Well... yeah," the medic mumbled, "I was worried."

The two flyers did their best not to sigh at the typical response, smiling softly up at Ratchet instead. "Love of you Ratchet," they said, turning their faceplates up to the medic.

Ratchet's blush deepened; the older Autobot clearing his intakes loudly and quickly turning to the door. "Just how long are they planning to keep us locked up in here?," he spoke to no one in particular, knocking lightly on the steel. "Honestly -several breems! This is Omega Supreme we're talking about. The Council should be able to gather faster than that!"

"Ratchet...," Jetstorm whimpered quietly behind the CMO.

Jetfire felt his shoulders sag, looking to his twin. The blue youngling was staring at Ratchet's backstruts desperately; spark-broken that the other mech had turned away from them that quickly. It had been too long in their opinion since they had last seen Ratchet, and they wanted to savour every moment they were together. But the old 'bot kept pushing them aside, even when it was obvious that he was just as happy to be in their presence, if not a little uncomfortable judging by his wandering optics and flustered behaviour. Silently, the orange jet rose to his pedes, coming up behind his brother and hugging Jetstorm tightly.

His twin barely responded, only making sad, little chirping noises in his vocalizer.

" _Brother...,"_ Jetfire soothed over the bond.

" _N-not crying,"_ Jetstorm protested, trembling in the other flyer's arms. _"J-just... hot is chassis. Want... needing of R-ratchet, sir... Touching of me have must."_

The orange youngling opened his mouth, about to verbally enquire as to what his brother was talking about, when he took notice of the heat slithering through Jetstorm's frame. Slowly, Jetfire slid his servo along the glass casing on the other's chassis, feeling the engorged spark release pulses of energy into the seeking appendage. The blue flyer exhaled sharply at the teasing sensation, and his twin could only smirk wryly at the reaction he had drawn. Jetstorm always seemed to get charged the easiest out of the two of them... and he always had the most naughtiest of simulations too.

" _B-Brother! Jetfire!,"_ the other squeaked as Jetfire pulled him flush against the back of the chair, reaching down and looping his servos under Jetstorm's knee joints.

" _Hush, brother,"_ the orange twin soothed, pressing a kiss to Jetstorm's helm. _"Trust of me, are doing?"_

" _Yes...t-trust completely of you, brother,"_ the blue youngling replied, as he allowed the other jet to spread open his legs, pressing them back against his heating chassis. He was fully exposed now: arms pinned to the back of the chair, legs lifted high, aft hanging just over the chair's edge slightly and in clear view from any 'bot's scrutiny. It was incredibly embarrassing, but very arousing as well.

A nibble on his helm fin, and a brisk whisper across their spark bond had the mech retracting his codpiece; baring himself utterly.

"Ratchet, sir," Jetfire called.

"N-no...," Jetstorm mumbled quietly, ducking his helm as best as he could given the situation, to avoid seeing the medic's expression once he took in the sight. The tell-tale chug of heating systems and cooling fans kicking in had the flyer looking up again shortly though; moaning softly as he saw the lustful gaze Ratchet was giving him.

Primus... they were trying to offline him, he swore it!

"Ratchet, sir," the orange youngling was grinning seductively, "Patient trying bestest are we to be... but brother being naughty very." One servo slid down a trembling blue thigh, fingers slipping into the waiting valve. Jetstorm gasped sharply at the sudden intrusion, a small trickle of lubricant seeping out from around white digits. "Brother able not to stop simulations. Pretty valve your spike hungry for. Seeing what wetness he making."

Jetfire pushed his fingers a little deeper, trying to drive his point home. The blue mech keened at the sensation, wriggling his hips in an attempt to push his twin's fingers along his valve walls. "Naughty, naughty," the other flyer tsked, still slowly wriggling his fingers within Jetstorm.

"R-rat-ratchet, s-sir!," Jetstorm managed to spit out, vocalizer cutting into another moan immediately after. The youngling physically thrust into his brother's servo this time, unconsciously spreading his legs wider. The medic watching visibly flinched at having his designation called; optics welded to the beautiful chassis offered before him, blue visor dim with desire and heavenly lubricant dripping from a blushing jet's valve as he was fingered by his twin.

"T-take me... si-sir, please!"

"Ratchet, sir," Jetfire cooed, over his brother's cries. "Not wanting?"

At the subtle taunt, Ratchet had quickly crossed the room, looming over both flyers. "You two will be the death of me...," he grumbled, before he grabbed Jetfire about the back of his helm and mashed their lip components together. Distracted by the dangerously hungry glossa invading his mouth, the orange youngling pulled his fingers out from Jetstorm's valve; using the free servo to gain some leverage by grasping the medic's shoulder plating.

The older mech paid it no mind, retracting his codpiece and having his spike pressurize out into the atmosphere with a small hiss. Jetstorm, momentarily neglected, heard the protective plating slide back and turned his gaze away from the two 'bots kissing above him to the stiff cable visible from between his legs. Ratchet's spike -a sight the blue flyer had not seen since their last attempt to interface with the medic- was still as handsome and thick as ever, making the youngling swoon as he looked upon it. Taking the distraction granted to him, Jetstorm carefully wound his legs around the CMO's waist, pulling Ratchet to his chassis. The resulting action caused the other's spike to plunge deep into his valve, drawing a strangled moan from the jet.

At the sudden motion, Ratchet tore away from his kiss with Jetfire, staring down at the twin still sitting in the chair. Jetstorm looked back up at him dazedly, cheekplates dark with energon and moist lip components mouthing wordless syllables about the delicious girth stretching him. "Primus...," the ambulance growled, yanking his hips back and snapping them forward again. Jetstorm yelped at the quick response, being shoved back further into the chair with each following thrust. Jetfire moaned slightly as he felt his brother's pleasure over the bond, lubricants seeping into valve.

He remembered what it was like to have that spike buried deep inside of him, stimulating sensor nodes and driving his systems into blessed overload. He desperately wanted that again, to be in Jetstorm's position: screaming and moaning as his valve was filled to the brim; Ratchet only pulling out to ram back in again, sliding his spike along frazzled sensors.

Jetfire reached between the two mechs, forcing the blue flyer's legs to unwind from the medic's waist. Jetstorm barely had an astrosecond to whine in complaint before his twin was pulling his legs back to his chassis, deepening the angle at which the older mech was plundering his valve; increasing the sensation and making him scream in rapture.

Oh, Primus... The orange youngling whimpered as the phantasmal feelings grew, almost to the point that he could feel Ratchet within his own valve. Knees buckling, Jetfire slid to the floor, shaking servos still holding Jetstorm's legs up. Ratchet did not notice his "disappearance". The CMO grabbed the back of the chair, gripping it tightly as he focused entirely on thrusting into the blue youngling.

So much heat!

The medic growled lustfully, increasing his tempo into that soaked passage. Lubricants burst out around his spike, slicking it further and making it easier for him to continue his rapid thrusts. "R-ratchet!," Jetstorm cried, pushing back against one particularly hard thrust. The flyer wriggled wildly, but could not get his arms free, instead only managing to drive Ratchet's rigid cable against further sensor nodes. "R-ratchet, m-mmmmore, pl-please! O-ohh... ov-overload need, v-very!"

Ratchet groaned at the plea, pushing deeper. He could tell Jetstorm was close... Primus, he was close himself. His systems were melting from the inside it felt, cooling fans choking as they attempted to spin faster; alarms and messages of red-lining pinging constantly across the back of his processor. Cables clenched tightly about his spike, making the CMO gasp at the delicious pressure. Unlike before, the valve walls did not relax again around his length -informing him that Jetstorm was just on the brink of completion. With renewed vigor, the ambulance focused on pulling out of that incredibly tight passage and ramming back in.

"A-aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh! R-ratcheeeeeeeeeeeeeeettt!"

Jetstorm spasmed beneath him, vocalizer spitting static as he screamed. His whole chassis shook as he overloaded, helm thrown back and visor blacking out as he was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of pleasurable feedback swamping his circuitry. The cords within the jet's valve only clenched Ratchet's spike tighter, locking the mech in place. Unable to pull back, the medic reached his own overload still lodged deep within the blue twin; transfluid spurting up the warm passage.

The younger 'bot moaned as he came back online, feeling Ratchet's fluids coating the walls of his valve thickly, and trickling out from the aperture along with the rest of his lubricants. "R-ratchet...," he moaned softly as the CMO finally pulled out.

"Recharge, kid," Ratchet replied, nuzzling the top of Jetstorm's helm quickly, before he withdrew entirely. Jetstorm chirped quietly in the back of his vocalizer, visor dimming down in response to the ambulance's command.

Jetfire, still behind the chair, slowly rose to his own pedes; releasing his hold on his brother. With charged optics, he looked to the medic's spike -still fully pressurized and now slick with the combination of transfluids and lubricant. His glossa suddenly twanged in remembrance; his own valve clenching hungrily behind his codpiece. "R-ratchet, sir," the orange youngling mumbled breathlessly.

"Guess I'm to take care of you now," the older mech smirked uncharacteristically, circling around the chair to the flyer on the other side.

Jetfire only had a moment to acknowledge his spark pulsing in excitement, before he was swept up into Ratchet's arms and all other consciousness escaped him.

**xxXxXxx**

Council meetings were boring.

Jetstorm shifted on his pedes, doing his best not to simply cycle an intake in weariness. It was not often that the flyers were forced to partake in a meeting like this, but Sentinel was adamant that all his crew be present while he spoke with the Council. As of the moment, their commander was trying to persuade Perceptor and Alpha Trion that the right course of action was to shoot on Omega Supreme and eradicate the Decepticon threat.

And Ratchet was being just as verbal about the opposite.

"...blowing up Omega Supreme could take out the entire planet!," the medic protested.

Sentinel turned away from the Council, glaring at Ratchet. "I brought you here to keep an optic on you, not for your opinion!," the truck hissed.

Ratchet scowled back at the blue Prime, venom in his optics as well. But before anyone else could make a move, Perceptor was speaking from his seat on the podium. "Ratchet is a great asset," the scientist said on the medic's behalf. "His experience with Omega Supreme exceeds even mine."

Jetstorm grinned merrily at his adoptive creator's noble defense of Ratchet, while Jetfire rolled his optics at Sentinel's typical play of the 'Magnus' card.

"The council will deliberate, " Alpha Trion replied, cutting off further rants from the truck.

"What's to deliberate!," Ratchet shouted, stepping forward, "Omega Supreme is one of us -an Autobot; a friend!"

To Sentinel, the medic growled, "Harm one circuit on him and you'll answer to me."

"Are you threatening me?," the taller mech started in disbelief. "That's treason, soldier!," Sentinel continued, raising a finger accusingly. "Arrest him!"

Wait, what?! Was Sentinel Prime speaking to them?! Jetstorm felt his spark hiccup in shock, and his fuel tanks sink to the bottom of his chassis. Their commander was glaring still, anger etched firmly across his faceplates. Jazz, from his own post, did not take any initiative to move... leaving the action of apprehending the medic to fall to the jettwins. Hesitantly, the blue youngling pulled a set of stasis cuffs out of sub-space, noticing Jetfire copy the motion from beside him. With heavy sparks, they slowly marched toward Ratchet, who was staring back at them blankly.

The little human with the CMO turned about as the flyers approached; making odd, tiny sounds as he tipped his head back. Something yellow and slimy started descending from the organic's nostril. Jetfire and Jetstorm froze in place, disturbed and confused by the peculiar sight. "T-this feels like a big one!," Captain Fanzone declared before he rapidly pulled a hankie out of his pocket, blowing into the clothe with a sound reminiscent of a fog horn.

In the momentary confusion, Ratchet withdrew his tools, shooting the younglings with the magnetic beam. They were sent flying, backstruts skidding across the council room floor, as the medic quickly transformed; him and the human tearing from the room with a squeal of burning tires. "Sorry about that kids!," the ambulance shouted over his axle as he raced out the front door.

Quickly, Jetfire and Jetstorm transformed as well, giving chase.

"Ratchet, sir!," the orange jet called over the comm link.

"Sir, why attack of us is?," Jetstorm cried out. "Sentinel make of punishment worse for running being. N-not of trouble making, please doing!"

"You just don't understand...," Ratchet sighed over the frequency. The twins caught the flash of his tail pipes turning the corner up ahead, and gunned their engines in response. "Listen, there's something I've gotta do, and if I simply comply with Sentinel's glitched commands then everything we've worked for until now will be lost. I need you to stay here with your commander; keep him busy or the like, but make sure he doesn't shoot on Omega Supreme. It's not the right thing to do, you have to trust me."

Jetfire began to slow at the medic's explanation, but Jetstorm only increased his speed.

"Not go, please!," the blue flyer begged, trying to catch the medic.

"Jetfire, Jetstorm...," came Ratchet's voice as the youngling was zipping around another corner, "...I love you."

And then the connection cut.

Stunned, Jetstorm flew helm-first into the adjacent wall, tumbling and rolling as he crashed to the floor below. "B-brother!," Jetfire shouted, running to his fallen twin. Slowly, the blue flyer transformed, visor fixed to the ground in shock.

"Brother...?," the orange youngling started anxiously.

"H-he... he confessing love of us," his brother mumbled in reply. Jetstorm lifted his helm, locking gazes with Jetfire. A drop of coolant was collected at the corner of the other's visor. "H-he it saying."

"Yes," Jetfire smiled softly, falling to his knee joints and hugging his brother tightly. "Now must trusting him be we are. Ratchet okie for dokie be."

Jetstorm only nodded his helm, burying his faceplates into his twin's neck cables as he hugged the other jet back.

**xxXxXxx**

"Jetfire! Jetstorm! Open fire! Take down Omega Supreme!"

Jetfire perked at the command, whipping his helm to his brother sitting in the seat next to him. Jetstorm was staring at him just as stunned, lip component nibbled tightly between his set of denta.

Was Sentinel Prime serious?!

"Brother... shooting on Omega Supreme not can. He Ratchet's friend is!"

"I know, brother...," the orange youngling replied, servos clenching tightly over the controls.

When their commander had ordered them to Fortress Maximus, the jettwins had thought little of it. Ratchet had asked them to do all they could to distract Sentinel, and the best way to do that was to follow the truck's orders. Powering up the Autobot's defense unit would take time... long enough, the flyers had hoped, for Ratchet to do what he needed to.

They still didn't know what the medic was up to, but they trusted him, with all of the happy, loving rotations of their sparks. An explosion over the commlink had the two younglings tensing in their seats.

"Ratchet, sir!"

"Twins," Sentinel responded, instead of the medic, "I told you to fire! SO SHOOT ALREADY!"

"B-but, Sentinel, sir," Jetfire stuttered, servo pressed to his audio anxiously.

"Happened what to Ratchet?," Jetstorm cried, interrupting his brother.

"Slaggit... stop interrupting me, already! Do as I order and shoot -before the Decepticons can get away!"

Jetstorm shook his helm to the Prime's words, clenching the controls desperately. His brother noticed, and lowered his servo from his comm link. "Brother...," the orange youngling whispered, turning to the other mech. "Must doing. Decepticons if being there... t-then must trigger pulling. R-ratchet w-would say yes of doing."

"Jetstorm!," Jetfire shouted, when his twin refused to answer him still.

Spark fluctuating, the blue flyer snapped his servo forward, slamming the release button. Above their helms, Fortress Maximus' ginormous cannon rapidly set to charging; golden particles focusing at the weapon's very tip. It took only a klik later for the gun to power up, before releasing a bolt of raw energy toward the hovering Omega Supreme. Dreadfully counting down every intake-clogging nanoklik, Jetfire kept his focus on the monitors, waiting for the moment when the shot would collide with the immobile Autobot.

With shock, the orange twin watched as blue light gathered around Omega Supreme; transwarp energy flaring brightly over Iacon's skies, before fading away again.

When nothing but the red clouds and crackling lightning remained, there was no sign left to be seen of the guardian 'bot. The shot from Fortress Maximus' cannon, without a target any longer, flew toward the empty sky, slowly fizzling out of existence in the atmosphere. "What... where'd he go?," Sentinel's voice came across the commlink again. "Where the slag did my target go?!"

"It doesn't matter now...," they could hear Ratchet say over Sentinel's end. "The Council will need to be informed of this."

"Ratchet!," the jettwins chirped, leaping from their seats. Sentinel might get angry at them, but without the threat of Decepticons, there was no need for the younglings to remain at their posts. Running out of the room, they quickly transformed, honing in on their commander's energy signature.

"Friends of yours?," Captain Fanzone said, as the two jets came sweeping in; transforming mid-air and tackling the CMO to the floor.

Ratchet merely scowled, turning flushed cheekplates away from the human.

**xxXxXxx**

" _...Do you have to leave again?"_

Ratchet attempted to ignore the messages coming across his comm link, trying to follow the conversations that were happening at that very moment around him. Jetstorm did not relent though, and neither did Jetfire, adding in his own two-cents.

" _Not angry being us with for on shooting Omega Supreme, you are?"_

Forcing himself to turn away from Alpha Trion reaming Sentinel out for his latest bigot actions -an experience that he was greatly enjoying before he had been distracted- the medic tapped into the frequency as well. _"No, I'm not... You didn't shoot immediately. Though I'm not happy with Shockwave escaping with Arcee on Omega Supreme, I'm also glad to not have to lose another friend so soon,"_ he answered. _"...There is still hope for Omega Supreme, the same as with Arcee. Until circumstances prove otherwise, I will do my best to rescue them."_

" _B-but... not wanting of to you go!,"_ the blue youngling protested again. Though he stood at attention, he wanted nothing more than to throw himself at Ratchet's pedes and wind his arms about the other mech's legs tightly. Why did the CMO have to come back, only to leave again so soon? It was not fair! Especially after the older 'bot had just admitted to them his feelings.

Ratchet glanced at the flyers as he turned his helm to the transwarp field, answering Fanzone to a question that he only vaguely caught. The regret in his own optics was enough to ensure the jettwins that this was not a farewell Ratchet was looking forward to either.

" _...Can't come we...?,"_ Jetfire asked, spark shivering nervously in its chamber. He prayed to Primus that the medic would agree; say that they could join him on Earth, where they would all be happy. _"We helping! Stop the vily mechs together!"_

The medic turned his back to the other two, growling back at Sentinel for a moment. He tightened his grip on the Magnus Hammer, that he had reclaimed from Shockwave, before picking up Captain Fanzone and jumping through the spacebridge portal. _"No...,"_ came Ratchet's final comm. _"You must stay here. Cybertron needs you now, whether they know it or not. Please believe me when I say I'll return."_

They tried to reach the medic, to say one last thing, but he was already out of range.

With heavy sparks, Jetfire and Jetstorm turned away from the closing bridge; their optics already glued to the stars, wondering when they might see the CMO again.


End file.
